The Broken Cadence Rolls
by LuvEwan
Summary: Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his apprentice encounter a terrifyingly skilled-and familiar-warrior during the epic battle of Naboo. AU.
1. Default Chapter

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The Broken Cadence Rolls

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Written by LuvEwan

PG-13 (Dark subject matter)

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Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

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Acknowledgements: This is dedicated first and foremost to **shanobi**, who thought of the plot bunny that later appeared in her thread and bit me _hard_. Thanks also to **oe** for her pm'd encouragement. And to each of my readers who have given me the courage to try new things, to experiment with my writing when I never would have before. The title is taken from the Norah Jones song 'One Flight Down', by Jesse Harris.

WARNING: This could be interpreted as a stand-alone, since I may not be able to work regularly on this while my other three fics are still in the writing process. But I had to get some ideas out. I think everyone can relate with that.

Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his apprentice encounter a terrifyingly skilled-and familiar-warrior during the epic battle of Naboo. AU.

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/_A seed grows where it is thrown/_

Qui-Gon Jinn heard the words coming through his mind like a winged creature that darts with sleek, unexpected abruptness into a focused line of vision. There was certainly no time to recover from the strange shock, not even to pause and blink away the ripples that were widening through his intentionally uniform thoughts.

The Theed Hangar was usually a pristine area, with its stainless marble floor and classic architecture. But today, the harbor of starfighters and starships was no more than a crinkled, blood-soaked shell, holding death and desperation within, reflecting the struggle on the polished walls and the tile, somehow left without the scuffs of dashing feet.

They were traveling in a tight group, but the collection of guards on the fringes were loosening that strict binding as stray bolts made contact with vulnerable flesh. The victims went down with quick, surprised cries, but Qui-Gon knew they could not spare a moment to assess their conditions. And for many that went crashing to the ground, there was no question of their condition.

Death. Beginning at the heart of the city, it had spread cancerous to the very outskirts of Naboo, where weapons were now poised in the Gungan marsh. The war had even transcended the heavens. The pale sky was spotted with soaring, swerving, exploding compact vessels. Most of them were gone from the hangar, leaving the open end deserted by the bright yellow, molded bodies. Afternoon streamed unimpeded through in pallid blue and violet.

The Jedi Master glanced sidelong at his Padawan. Bruck Chun's colorless hair was set to a nearly eerie glow, the tips going a shade lighter while the base seemed to burn with the young man's determination. His profile had always been odd, helped none by the regulation, cropped style of that bleached mane, and Qui-Gon felt a tendril of worry worm its way into his gut.

"The disturbance." Qui-Gon murmured to the apprentice. They were moving quickly, but were still at the toe of the battling form, and the weak breeze teased along their necks. "It's here."

Bruck nodded, his severely black eyes trained ahead. "And its hungry."

An ominous observation, but Qui-Gon had to agree. Throughout the mission to Naboo, there had been an undercurrent composed of shadow and nameless dread, now sharpened and brought to the surface. It would have been a natural thing, to be intimidated by the potential power such a threatening force could wield.

But as a Jedi, some intrinsic reactions had to be overruled.

Qui-Gon spotted among the throng of handmaidens, at the core of the velvet, maroon gathering the Queen, running alongside the Naboo warriors and her young friends as though she herself were a seasoned fighter. He could be thankful for that much. At least he would not have to devote too much of his attention to ensuring her immediate safety. Padme Amidala could hold her own.

The band was closing in on the huge, ceiling-high double doors when they appeared to open of their own accord.

In unison, the guards, the girls and the sovereign skidded to a halt. Only Qui-Gon and Bruck could claim true Force sensitivity, but in this case, the rare gift was unneeded. A tacit caution connected them all. And in one, lurching instant, their hearts sped to an awful frenzy.

It was akin to a chalice of pure water, clean and filtered with a crisp taste, suddenly clouded by ink. The ebony horror began at the lip of the chalice, at the opened mouths of the warriors, and descended in a shivery rush, until darkness polluted the very atmosphere.

And the air was foul at Qui-Gon's tongue.

The stone curtain had parted smoothly to reveal a new player.

Death. Here it sprung again, and the Master recognized the demon before them, for it was decked in the feathers of his earlier, momentary distraction. He didn't know how he knew. But he did.

Darkness pooled around the figure, tangibly and spiritually. Beginning at the crown of the bowed head, black spilled in wicked fluidity to a cowl that ended at squared shoulders. The attire was striking in its similarity to Jedi garb. Tunic, belt, leggings, boots.

But while Qui-Gon and his Padawan wore a palate of earth tones, the intruder's were chosen from thick midnight. Fitting. It matched the shades that oozed from the Force, clots of boiled tar and acid.

From the distance stretched between he and the creature, he could not see the face, concealed as it was by the hood and shadow. He didn't have to. The dripping web that inexplicably drew him to the cloaked specter was enough to tell him that he could not allow the current situation to escalate. "We'll handle this." His voice was commanding while maintaining its quiet, smooth inflection.

Padme was soon jolted from the shared paralysis, tearing her eyes from the unnerving scene laid out. "We'll take the long way."

And, for reasons he could not yet begin to comprehend, her order echoed in his head.

The cluster swerved to the left in a fleeting din of steps.

Then, there were but three housed in the grand Theed Hangar. Two Jedi, and someone who was most definitely the polar opposite of one. But still, Qui-Gon found a thin layering of his innermost thoughts straying to those words.

Deep in his heart, he knew the contrast between himself, his Padawan and the shadow-masked warrior was not so stark, black and white. Because there was gray. Twin pools of silver, staring at him from across the hollowed hangar.

While he and Bruck had slipped from their cumbersome robes, their opponent had pulled the roomy cowl away from his face. His face--

Qui-Gon had to stop himself from gawking, from squinting to make out the landscape of the revealed countenance. What did the composition of those ghost-gray eyes, nose, mouth matter? Outward appearance was a misleading masquerade meant to be stripped away. And the mystery that lay beneath that face had already been spelled out for the Master, in rasping syllables that echoed through the Force itself. Evil. Death. As Bruck had said, Hunger.

And thirst, Qui-Gon added to that mental listing. Bitter, bottomless thirst. The horror before them had drank in the tainted moisture as though it were a cool pool in the center of wilderness.

Qui-Gon had encountered wickedness in many, many forms during his career as a Jedi. He had barely escaped with his life, from those who thrived on the grounds of desolation. This being, draped in malevolence as surely as he was draped in cloth, was different.

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What the hells is it? Human?

Bruck's stunned and faintly curious inquiry was repetitive of Qui-Gon's own wonderment. It _was _human, that much could be ascertained, even by an untrained eye.

The warrior's robe dropped from its body to an obsidian puddle at its feet.

But there was more.

Though it appeared to wear a normal tunic of wrapped fabric bands and billowing sleeves, the dark enemy moved to strip away the clothing, as easily as he had abandoned its sooty cloak.

The material exposed was not armor, although it gleamed in a similarly unyielding way. Their enemy's form was sharply defined by the blackness that clung skin-tight to muscle-almost like onyx liquid, poured over the flesh and hardened to a malleable suit. It climbed up to the neck, but did not extend to the face.

The face. Surrounded by a short veil of raven hair, its pallor was creamy ivory. The eyes were slate, thin streams of murky cloud that seemed to shift and catch every color of the room, yet simultaneously, were carved in haunting stillness.

When Qui-Gon's own eyes could finally emerge from the hypnosis, they fell to the cylinder hanging from the phantasm's lean waist.

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Force alive.//

Bruck ripped his gaze from their patient enemy, the first real tinges of fear welling in his eyes. _Master?_

The man inhaled, subtly. _Keep your wits about you, Padawan. This is no common foe we engage._

With his trademark mix of recklessness and flame-bright confidence, Bruck sent the message, _I know, Master. And we have to destroy it._

There was a split second hesitation, when indescribable thoughts streaked through his consciousness. But the man quickly shook it off. _Yes. But conserve your energy. Take the offense only when you must._Eyes of striking sapphire flickered to the menacing form, _This being is strong. Physically. And in the Force. Even with uneven numbers, we just might be in an equal fight here._

Bruck's jaw was set. _We're Jedi. What can this cretin do that we can't match? Or better?_

I have no idea, Padawan. But I'm afraid we're to find out.

The step of the enemy resounded in the hangar, and as the gap between them rapidly decreased, Qui-Gon was appalled by how the creature was able to all but suffocate the brilliance of the Light. This was worse than the criminals that roamed Coruscant's lower levels, beyond the greed and corruption of the Trade Federation drones.

Could it be that this was the epitome of all Qui-Gon had been taught to abhor? Was this thing stalking toward he and his protégé Dark itself?

And, more pressing a question, would they be able to defeat it?

The silence was total, stretched out taut between them. Breaths seemed heavier in the absence of sound, but perhaps they _were _coming quicker, in time with the approach of their opponent.

The sheer malice that sheeted off the stranger's aura was not present in the darkly captivating visage. It was solemn, composed of gold and shadow, waiting. As though the creature expected a smooth, uncomplicated victory. As if Qui-Gon and his apprentice were reeds to be mowed down.

But they would not bend willingly.

When there were but a few meters separating them, the weapons were called to cold, preparing hands. Qui-Gon gripped the handle and worked his fingers along the familiar grooves. It was a comfort, however bare and departing, in the midst of violent clash.

Now all that remained was the activation, the final formality before rules were forgotten, and hell took reign.

He was the first, emerald shooting out in a sharp buzz. Then Bruck, a scarlet blade with a light haze, held at a defensive stance.

And lastly, there was the enemy. It held a deeply ridged, almost stylized elongated hilt, but turned the cylinder sideways.

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What--

Bruck's shock was swallowed up by the exposing of not one, but two blades, hurdling out both ends of the lightsaber. The dark figure possessed flawless balance, the red glow pooling in the curves of his cheekbones, and setting unnatural light to the black strands of hair.

Qui-Gon swallowed. _May the Force be with you, Padawan._

And with you, Master.

Then, the battle began.

Qui-Gon was targeted first, the creature's saber slamming down on his mercilessly. Bruck hurried to defend his mentor, but was sent sliding across the buffed floor by a single strike.

Worse, it appeared their antagonist's attention was not divided by the extra opponent. The double-ended saber was whirled like a baton, becoming a blur of electric blood, blocking hits while delivering powerful, _unrestrained _blows that sent shock bolts up the arm.

Bruck stormed back into the fight, attacking, grunting. Already, the anger was bubbling in the young Jedi.

And there was no time for the Master to warn him about the consequences of such unbridled rage. If the boy did not know now, after a decade of training, he would never know. Qui-Gon just prayed there would be a chance for it to be discussed-afterward.

The muscled figure continued to parry every attempt at his person. His control over the assault was demonstrated when he threw out his palm behind him, opening a hatch, and leading the others through a corridor into a new arena.

A power generator, Qui-Gon registered, sweat beginning to spike at his temples. He was an aging warrior who would have to keep this younger, swifter, frighteningly skilled warrior at bay. And the obstacles were multiplied, for they no longer stood on a solid surface.

The generator core was a multi-tiered grid of catwalks, the thin bridges spreading out circular to house horizontal beams, tubes of pale energy that up close, quivered like quicksilver threads.

The dark fighter leapt from the corridor to the first bridge, twisting effortlessly mid-air, landing to face the two Jedi.

Bruck tucked into a clean somersault, Qui-Gon following.

The Master and apprentice were able to flank the warrior, engaging him at left and right, searching for a hole in its guard.

But it was fast becoming evident that there were no openings to take advantage of. The duel was tight, with every movement testing the edge of life and death.

Then, a well-placed kick blasted Bruck in the chest, knocking him off the entire level.

And it became a true war of wills, Master against villain.

The Jedi's foe seemed to meld in with the pall of the generator, the gray eyes a mirroring of the sparking collision of jade and scarlet.

A roundhouse kick was aimed at Qui-Gon's head, but somehow, he was able to duck the move well before it was executed. Of course Jedi could sense potential attacks, but he had _known_, precisely, where that booted foot would go, at what speed, at a specific intensity.

That kind of subconscious rhythm was usually reserved for a weathered battle team, lifelong sparring partners, like that of a Master and Padawan.

It didn't happen again during the conflict-but Qui-Gon didn't forget it.

They worked their way down the narrow lane, constantly leaping and striking and guarding. Perspiration ran down their skin, plastering hair to their foreheads. Qui-Gon wanted desperately to check on Bruck; the boy had not returned yet, plunged into the unknown depths of the core.

He hoped, if the boy was alright, that he used haste in rejoining the fight.

Qui-Gon needed backup. The man could admit, at the knee of his own Master Dooku, he had matured into one of the finest swordsman of the Order. On his worst day, he could best most opponents, Jedi or not. And it would have happened long before this, before the sweat saturated his tunics and his strength threatened to wane.

Their blades were entwined, bringing them face to face, their breaths like hot smoke on each other's flesh.

Qui-Gon looked into the gray eyes, still dumbfounded by their beauty, disgusted by the evil pounding at the pupils.

Neither gave way to the other, able to lean forward only a moment before being forced back again.

"What is your purpose here?" Qui-Gon demanded through grit teeth. He was growing dizzy from the reactions in the Force, now that they were in such intimate proximity.

The warrior shook his head. He was displaying shreds of strain, biceps tensing, the muscles of his back constricting. His skin was bathed in his efforts.

For a moment, the ethereal, white cast of the power beams spilled on the unnamed assailant's face, leeching the shadows from its features.

And Qui-Gon's heart clenched, then dropped to the turbulent pits of his stomach. _No._ His focus was torn to that face, unearthed by the nearby radiance. His eyes were reduced to slits. He could barely find the courage to speak, to say the words he had restricted from his lips for so long. "Obi-Wan?"

The other blinked, but said nothing. The hum of the sabers rose.

Then, a neon line was drawn through the dark, intersecting with a black shoulder.

Qui-Gon watched with shaky disbelief as the bolt shot through, taking the enemy down. The two-edged saber rolled away from a limp hand. He wheeled around and saw Bruck, standing some distance away, gripping a slim blaster.

A breath broke from Qui-Gon's laboring lungs. He closed his eyes briefly, in relief that the battle was ended. They had survived--a fact that he had been, for awhile, beginning to doubt the possibility of.

Then, he sank beside the felled warrior, taking in the scorched, blackened flesh as if he were functioning in a dream. Qui-Gon reached out one trembling hand, to turn the head towards him.

"Oh Force." He whispered. Even with the vivid eyes closed, he knew the identity of this cold-hearted fighter. The skin was covered in a gleaming wet sheen, the cheeks slender, forehead high and slightly wide. Parted to allow weak pants to pass, the lips were sculpted and thin, as Qui-Gon remembered. Beneath them was a distinct cleft in a prominent chin. The hair was vastly different from the auburn, spiky cut of his recollections.

Tentatively, he touched the silken drift--and a horrible shaft of anguish went through him. "Obi-Wan."

To his astonishment, black lashes lifted, and pain-bright eyes adhered to him. "You speak of someone long dead." The voice was still a soft, understated melange of dulcet and fine culture. But it wasn't the same. Just as the rest of him, it was a shadow of the real thing.

"Someone that no one mourns," A grimace, "Someone I've _never _mourned."

When the eyelids fell again, Qui-Gon looked up to see Bruck. From the expression marking the boy's pallid face, the Master knew the boy understood.

"Are you alright, Padawan?" He asked hoarsely.

Bruck nodded. "Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon compressed his lips. "Then…Then find a healer."

The apprentice stole a last glance at the still form, a storm flitting over his face, then sprinted to carry out his teacher's order.

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	2. Chapter Two

Inspiration was readily available to me with this, while it wasn't so kind about my other fics. So here's another post. I hope it's enjoyed.

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Ewan's girl Oh, I knew straight away I'd have to continue. I couldn't leave our sexy, dark Obi-Wan without his back story! Thank you.

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Audreidi An expansion on Bruck is critical-but a little intimidating. I've never really explored his character before. Thanks for the review!

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Shanobi I've already told you how much your feedback means to me…but aw heck, I'll tell you again! Thank you for being the source of this idea that I'm already having a blast expanding on. I hope never to disappoint you.

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Skywalker05 Maul? I never even thought about him…Ooh…

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JediKeladry Thank you! You're a sweetheart.

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Knightlight Interesting that some thought it was Xanatos. He'll certainly be a shadow over the fic, that much I know. Thank you for the review.

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Fudge Thanks so much.

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Lmoonshade Yeah, I'd like to know what happens to…I have no idea, to tell you the truth! Thank you for reading and reviewing.

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AthenaLeigh Your review kind of surprised me, but after reading through it, I can't say I agree with you. I can never tell how my fic reads, but I thought there were enough changes to warrant the retelling of the scene. There wasn't enough backstory there yet to ascertain just why Qui-Gon didn't recognize him right away, although for much of the chapter he _was _at a distance from his enemy. As for the 'unbelievable' aspect of Bruck being his apprentice….Qui-Gon apprenticed Xanatos, and though he never turned downright evil until later on in their relationship, the seeds were there. He was haughty from the knowledge of his ancestry. And explanation will be given when the time is right. You have every right to hold your own opinion though, and I'm glad that you're giving me a chance to elaborate on the initial offering. Thank you for the review.

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Kynstar Thank you so much. Your comments are always completely appreciated.

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Morning was blooming on Naboo in soft, pastel flourishes. Delicately-winged birds glided along the clouds, almost disappearing into the thin, ivory patches, only to reemerge, dusting remnants of heaven from their long tail feathers. Sometimes, their sweet call could wake the slumbering people below, in lieu of cold beeps breaking through unconsciousness.

But neither natural nor electronic siren was needed to rouse Qui-Gon Jinn. He had met the new day at its very inception, watching the moon's effulgence spread as golden vapor through the starry darkness.

The night was not spent in stoic medical vigil, thank the Force. Bruck was safe beneath the sheets of his bed, in the spacious room connected to his own in a private wing of the palace. Qui-Gon knew it had been a frail kind of victory, he himself at the brink of death, nearly singed by a wicked corruption of his Order's sacred weapon.

'Live by the blade…' But few Jedi actually met their ultimate fate by it. And even then, it was likely self-inflicted. Jedi faced off in feigned battle, to learn, to hone their skills.

Never had Qui-Gon been forced to defend himself from the morbid lust blazing from one who wielded that sword. But no--he had to stop and amend that observation. _Rarely._

For there had been a few, heart wrenching instances when he had been made to do just that. He shared the awful experience with a scant number of other Masters, none of which were members of his generation. It was the feeling of an artisan, lovingly sculpting with careful, callused, reverent fingers their masterpiece…and just when the clay had taken perfect shape, and begun to dry, the form twists inwardly. In an artificial sense, it is the same. Beautiful. But beneath, the changes are horrific.

A sculptor never wishes to shatter the hours, the _years_ spent in their extensive work. It was an unparalleled nightmare for Qui-Gon to take arms against that which he held such deep affection-even pride.

Now, as the sun radiated mellow waves through the horizon, he knew what it was like to face something that had been nowhere near complete. A wet hunk, with only a few fingerprints pressed.

It seemed someone else had taken the Master's place, and made certain those early impressions were kneaded out of…him.

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A place you willingly vacated.

A treacherous little voice had the gall to speak up, but was quickly silenced by the overriding, and well practiced, inner defense. _A place that was already cleared of me, by him._

His weary eyes looked out to the stirring world. There would be celebrations today, to mark Naboo's momentous win. Funny, that it would coincide with such a blistering reminder of his greatest loss. After the initial, considerable shock, he had stumbled through a haze, wondering if maybe this were some cruel joke played on him by his second apprentice. Maybe, prior to his death, Xanatos had arranged for this, hoping the shock would seize up his former Master's heart, and accomplish what the dark prince had never managed to in life.

But no, Qui-Gon had endured the horror. So far.

Perhaps, in part, because he had refused to follow the small crew who rushed the motionless body from the silvery bowels of the generator. He had warned them of his identity before moving to a shadowed corner to leave a breathless, disjointed message to Master Yoda, still caught in a whirlwind of disbelief.

The description of the encounter and the narrow triumph was short, the revelation spoken plainly. And he had a single entreaty of the wizened Councilor: send a collar.

Looking back at the incredible events of the day before, Qui-Gon was surprised he was coherent enough to string together a sentence, let alone ask for any method of Force suppression. Following the communication, his personal dialogues had been limited to one-word shouts, raw with a painful outrage that rattled his mind.

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What?

How? When?

WHY?!

And his mind's eye was blind to all else, save the image of that face. He had let himself forget so much of it. Time had taken that handsome, boyish face and transformed it, almost beyond recognition.

Qui-Gon brought his hands together tightly. _Perhaps it would have been better if the realization never came. And I could have finished the fight without that maddening twinge of bias._

He forced a breath into bound-up lungs, trying to rid his thoughts of that hair, once an indescribable color somewhere between red chestnut and ginger, now stained an indisputable black. To think, there had been a transience of his life when he had reached for that mane, to play with the closely shorn locks or give a tug to plaited strands.

And after…after _it _was over, he would sit up during lonely nights, turn against all good sense, and wish for just another stroke of those clean, soft locks.

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I was played for a fool. Anger seared his gut. _And I just might BE one, for granting him mercy._

It had been a moment rife with confusion, bewilderment. He never thought he would glimpse the boy again. Within the Temple, he was considered a lost member, though the opinion never crossed over into more 'traitorous' territory. He had been a mere child when his veins thickened with the rebellious blood, and presented the choice between the Jedi and a tattered group of young patriots. Even the most hardened of hearts could forgive one so young, so impressionable, for his decision.

But Qui-Gon could not.

And it had taken him more than a decade, but he was starting to release the guilt of that immovable stance.

Until now. Now, he was clutched in his memories, the mistakes of a segment of his past shared with another…and those eyes. Drained of their cerulean rains, the emeralds pitched, in favor of dismal stone. Just one glance, and Qui-Gon could feel them grazing his soul, bruises purpling in his heart.

He…_Obi-Wan_. The hesitation was mutual, linking them as nothing else could. Obi-Wan should have taken cruel advantage of Qui-Gon's split-second freeze, bare battle instinct decreed that -but he hadn't.

A bitter half-smile crept to the Master's face. _Did I surprise YOU for a moment, Obi-Wan Kenobi? _A shiver proceeded the thought, seeping down to aching bone. _But no. You seem to hold the winning cards in that respect._

As you always have.

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Obi-Wan ran. And it felt as though his boots had melted away, leaving bare feet that were crushing molten embers, falling in a blurred rhythm to the razored grit layering the ground.. Every Force-sped step was a stab of agony.

Because he knew where these bounds would take him. And he wasn't sure, even after all he had seen, that he wanted to go there.

Once his eyes were full of the carnage, and brutal memory was imbedded in the very irises, he had done his best to cope, as a Jedi would. He conjured simple lessons of the Temple. He thought of carefree afternoons, empty of educational rigor, but teeming with laughter and ancient friendship.

He thought of his Master. For a moment, the boy held to the brittle hope that Qui-Gon would offer a sufficient reason for the burgundy soaking in the dirt, and the tears, the children's tears, that overwhelmed his Force in a total deluge. Like no one else in his short lifetime, Qui-Gon Jinn was a wealth of answers, wisdom, comfort. He would know why. More importantly, he would know how to make it stop.

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But by the time Obi-Wan's legs had carried him beyond the brown, pluming smoke and battle cries of a too-tender voice, his mind was already secured in its determination. He could still taste the staleness of unjust war. The young warriors echoed in his heart.

Something inside the young Jedi pulsed strongly. It had been conceived before he knew his Master, as a tiny initiate. It had withstood failure, rejection…even walking the featureless halls of the ship that had steered him, without emotion, from his dreams. But now, that dream, miraculously renewed by Qui-Gon, suffered a tear. Obi-Wan would have staggered, to gasp, but there was no time.

He sped through the woods, the sting of crowded leaves occasionally leaving slashes on his face. Finally, he was there, at the starfighter.

A weapon sorely needed in the battle that waged on Melida/Dann. The best, outside of his basic, human devotion, he could give his weary friends. But then, ginger lashes swept to meet his skin.

He was not fast enough. His Master was already here.

Obi-Wan saw the proud, wide curve of Qui-Gon's back, bent to load something in the vessel, and inwardly, stumbled on his platform. A waver of a child.

But it was momentary. The sons and daughters of this place had never been allotted the rightful version of their childhood. So he would forego his. Even--he swallowed--even if it meant having to go against the man that was turning to face him, with a warmly greeting smile.

"Padawan. I'm glad to see you. I was beginning to worry--"

Obi-Wan blurted the words before they could spiral into the shallow wave of cowardice within him. "I'm not going with you. I-" His voice lowered involuntarily, to a whisper, "I can't go with you."

Fine lines knit the Master's eyes. "Obi-Wan?"

He swallowed a lump, and looked away from the open confusion written on the familiar visage. "I didn't come here to go home with you. I came to get the starfighter."

The silence was a descent to a place of dark frost, where Obi-Wan stood awaiting response, shivering in his solitary stance. He had breached the Code, gone against the Jedi. Challenged the word of his teacher.

But it wasn't meant to be that way. If he could just explain, relate to Qui-Gon the devastation he had witnessed--

"I see." The man responded at last, coolly. He stared at Obi-Wan with eyes rimmed by midnight, eyes that slowly narrowed, before widening. "No. No." A laugh sputtered from him. Incredulous. "I DON'T see. I don't understand what you're saying, Obi-Wan.

"So spell it out for me."

Obi-Wan wanted to wring his hands, or look at his feet. But instead, he focused exclusively on his Master. This was the chance he had desired. He HAD to make his case. "Dying. They're dying_, Master. I can feel it. Everywhere inside of me, I can feel their light winking out and the evil thickening, to fill where the light was."_

Qui-Gon studied him in a seemingly detached appraisal. The air became static. But then, affection welled to the surface of his gaze. He moved forward, until he was standing before his apprentice. "Come here, Padawan."

Muscular arms wove around Obi-Wan, and the boy let himself be pulled into the embrace. A large hand cupped his head. "I know it hurts to see the pain of so many, of those so young, who have befriended you." Qui-Gon murmured, a baritone softened to lace on the wind, "But you must realize, my apprentice, that YOU are very young. You don't know yet, that our unique service to the worlds sometimes dictates that we must leave, when it seems the worst moment to do so."

Obi-Wan buried his face in the warm neck, gathering the aura of his Master to him like a creature searching for sustenance before the freeze. Lips trembling, he forced out, "Master…"

"Padawan." Qui-Gon trailed the length of the braid with steady fingers. "Because we have departed the grounds does not mean we will also depart from the cause. The Council will tell us what is to be done from this point on." He pulled away, and wiped the single tear gleaming on Obi-Wan's cheek. His voice was infused with gentle cheer. "So, let's get on board. You can get something to eat, then rest. And meditation can solve the lingering problems for you, Padawan."

Obi-Wan inhaled, his sorrow rattling in his throat. "Don't try to sate me with disarming words, Master. You…You want me to be quiet so that I'll acquiesce, and you can get Master Tahl to Coruscant faster."

Qui-Gon stepped back. The soft caring splintered in his face, revealing a harder interior. "That was not my motive, Obi-Wan. Not at all. But yes, Tahl does _need the attention of the Temple healers." His jaw set. "Immediately."_

"And I want that for her too. She can still get it, but first Nield and Cerasi need--"

"FIRST," The Master thundered, "You can tell me when this apparent reversal of our roles took place. Tell me, Obi-Wan, when YOU took rule of the choices in this apprenticeship."

Obi-Wan felt a quiver start in his stomach, as he stood a child in the tremendous shadow of a giant. "I thought this was a partnership."

"And I thought I could trust you, to know when my word should be followed. WITHOUT protest. But I see that I was very much mistaken." Qui-Gon was motionless before him, but Obi-Wan could feel the ghost of tight fingers on his shoulder. "Get on board, Padawan. That is not a request. You have already gambled with my…with Tahl's life_."_

Obi-Wan looked past him, at the ramp leading to the opened hatch. It was a door between worlds, he knew. A portal linking his life up to this point, his life as a Jedi, to this new burst of pain and duty that had nothing to do with katas and centering mantras. But it couldn't last. He couldn't be pulled in both directions. It would only rip him apart. The boy blinked and hot tears spiked in his vision.

Qui-Gon saw the hesitation. The gloves were peeled away. "And if you don't get on board, know this." Sharp slivers glinted in his eyes. "I WON'T come back for you. Not when I know Tahl is safe, not even if you call and beg. Not even to bury you, once this mess" He threw out his hands, toward the war-fogged atmosphere," is through. I won't come back and let this…this betrayal fade away. If you make this mark-on BOTH our lives-it will be permanent."

The man was quietly seething, an anger tapped in him that Obi-Wan had never seen exposed before. "I NEED to help them, Master." There were better things he could have said, things that might have stood stronger in the wake of Qui-Gon's shattering ultimatum. But Obi-Wan could feel two truths rising in him. His love for his Master…and the knowledge that, no matter how powerful and deep that love was, it still wouldn't be enough to make him fold. "I've spent my life being taught to look outside of myself, to the Force, to humanity, for purpose. The Jedi hold duty above most everything else." Obi-Wan gulped down the misery building in his throat, "And I feel a duty to these people. These children, who are dying_ all around me. No one else will listen to them. No one else will help them. So isn't it my _duty_ to do what I can?"_

Qui-Gon would have resembled a statue, a form chiseled in harsh, unyielding lines-had it not been for the hint of moisture in his eyes. "And what of your duty to me_, Obi-Wan? After all I have done, to ensure you a future in the Knighthood?" His mouth was brought to a barely perceptible quiver, "What of the pledge you voiced to me? The pledge we made-to each other?"_

"I wouldn't rescind it." Obi-Wan shook his head, tears falling freely, "I wouldn't take the words back, Master. I don't want to. If you would just let…"

Qui-Gon calmly held a hand up. "NO. The pledge is not conditional, Obi-Wan. You either follow it completely…or you don't follow it at all. " He cemented his arms over his chest. "And I will not_ sacrifice Tahl for you."_

Obi-Wan's knees buckled under the weight of the words. His hands met roughly with the dust and dried mud. His braid dangled like a taunt in front of his eyes; he squeezed them shut. How could he do this? How could he stamp this swelling red finality on their relationship? How could he risk the mercy of the open air beyond the cliff?

And a wounded, battered collage assaulted him. Cerasi, Nield, countless others. Young faces. A future in the Knighthood? And what if their future didn't last beyond today? There would be no consolation for such anguish, guilt.

"I must help them."

And he salvaged enough courage to open his eyes, seeing a pair of scuffed, leather boots stop in front of him. Obi-Wan heaved a breath and looked up.

Qui-Gon's hair hung around his face, the silver streaks ignited to a glow by the last, illustrious finale of the sun. Sweat had begun to bead at his forehead, shone wetly on the skin at his neckline. He wasn't a young man anymore. Now, maybe for the first time, he actually looked as if he were approaching twilight. The normal regality was replaced by weariness. "This goes beyond defiance. You have shown me today that I was right all along, that I was better off alone. No," His smile was bitter, "Not alone. Just without you."

The initial pierce of Obi-Wan's heart. He felt blood as a hot, copper flood within his body, purged it as cool rivulets from his eyes.

"You have betrayed me today, Obi-Wan. And I should have seen it coming. Maybe, in a way, I did. Perhaps I saw it from the first, when I was audience to your spar, and felt that anger in you." Qui-Gon knelt in front of him, and clasped the young face between his hands, "I thought it could be different. I thought you could change, with guidance. With--" His voice weakened, "Love."

"I DO love you, Master." Obi-Wan choked.

But the man shook his head. "An illusion, Obi-Wan. A fake emotion you've tricked me, and yourself, into believing. But it ends now. It ends here, revealed for what it really is. I was a last resort for you. A method of attaining what you wanted…but you don't know what you want. All I know is," Qui-Gon sealed his eyes a moment, the fury multiplying in the space of a blink, fire in sapphire, "You don't want me. And you don't want to be a Jedi, obviously. You love me, Obi-Wan?

"Then you have a cruel way of showing it."

Obi-Wan was trembling badly, unable to think outside the cage of the accusations. He saw the perfect manifestation of sorrow in Qui-Gon's face-and knew it was all his fault.

Then, Qui-Gon drew him into a fierce, breathless embrace, and the young man thought he could hear the hammer of that valiant heart in his skull.

Qui-Gon held his apprentice tightly, his chin pressed to the spiky crown of hair. "But know that I did_ love you, Obi-Wan. Immediately. More than I thought possible." He kissed a smooth temple, "But it was a ruse, wasn't it? I gave my heart to someone who didn't exist."_

Obi-Wan clung to his chest, weeping. "No. Don't think that, Master--"

Qui-Gon leaned back, and laid a coarse finger against the lips. "You have no right to call me that anymore." Abruptly, he broke completely away from the boy, and stood. He made no movement to wipe the grime from his knees. "I will not linger here any longer. Tahl has earned my allegiance. And she would never turn her back on me." He held out his palm, stretching his fingers toward Obi-Wan, in wordless command.

Obi-Wan didn't need to be told what it meant. He scrambled to his feet, eyes swollen. With a bone-deep shudder, he unclipped his saber. The metal was cool. A beloved fixture of his life.

But his life was not what it once was. Qui-Gon had spoke the truth. He had no right to carry the weapon of the Jedi.

Obi-Wan turned over the cylinder to the waiting hand.

Qui-Gon gave him a look of absolute, austere heartbreak. "I did love you, Obi-Wan Kenobi." His fingers wrapped around the saber. "I love you no more."

And then the man turned, his cloak whipping like a gust of mahogany borne from the wind, and stalked up the ramp.

Obi-Wan watched the hatch close, felt as the tear inside him traveled down, until it was massive. The starfighter lifted in a great billow of dirt, then darted into the mandarin-rose sky, becoming a speck among the clouds.

And Obi-Wan stood, arms limp at his sides, thirteen years old, totally alone.

The break came soon after.

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	3. Chapter Three

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Athena Leigh I think that's the problem with posting my fic in small installments, as I have been. I know this fic will rely _very _heavily on backstory, so there might be things that will be hard to swallow, without much rational explanation to back it up. Which is not to say that everything in this will be rational, or even well thought out. I can't read my fic all the way through, not even when I finish it, which is why I get embarrassed by the typos I find in old stories down the road. Hee hee. I just hope you'll trust me, and remember that you can always say what you think is a little screwy or unbelievable. We're all on the same level around here, after all, so there's definitely no stepping out of place. I really appreciate your reviews and I always will. Thank you.

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Fudge It might just come back to haunt Qui-Gon…who knows?

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Lmoonshade Thank you so much!

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Shanobi You're just spoiling me, ya ol' softie! Hee!

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Kynstar Your replies are always so surprising and so sweet. Thank you.

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Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Never had a name held such sick weight, saturated with ugly memory and soiled by deep-seated hatred. To hear it uttered was to be transported to his days as an initiate, walking deserted corridors where that name echoed, in the voices of peers, instructors.

And Qui-Gon Jinn.

The man was a master of many things, in life and career. An expert swordsman, adept mediator and negotiator--revered mentor. He was also possessed of a unique, if somewhat rare, sense of humor and had an acute sensitivity tuned to the suffering of others. Above all, he was a champion of the underdog, a man who would chase a wispy petal on the wind, otherwise ignored in a glorious cluster of full blooms. Qui-Gon appreciated unrealized potential.

Perhaps that was why he had honed the unusual, unenviable talent to transform the name of his third, brief Padawan learner into a number of emotions: revulsion, woe, grief, indignation.

Bruck refused to address the possibility of 'regret'.

All of these were exhausted feelings that gnawed at the moniker as if it were meat, sucking at juice and flesh and marrow until all that remained was a twisted carcass, dried out and stinking of rot. It was well past due for Qui-Gon to take those shriveled husks and pitch them to the dogs, where the final remnants could be crushed to ash and, at last, forgotten.

But now, here came a fresh, dark slice.

For Bruck, the recognition of the wild warrior had been slow in coming. There were too many dusty pieces to interlock, so many edges that were ragged and torn. Twelve years could do much to an adolescent boy, aside from the black wash of hair dye and sinister attire.

There was a single, undeniable fact that stood above all else in this mess he and his Master were currently entangled: time had not held many kind days for Kenobi. His basic facial structure was intact, but the skin had paled to a drift of snow surrounded by midnight locks. He was taller, leaner, though muscled. And that which had always been his bane, the trait that was a source of laughter and ridicule for a certain sect of the initiates, was gone altogether.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was not clumsy anymore. His grace was cold, a ribbon of ice lashing perfectly through the Dark. His eyes were cut from that same, hard frost.

The light…The Light had abandoned him--_he _had abandoned _it_--and it showed.

An abomination. That was the word that leapt to the forefront of Bruck's churning mind. _Then again, that was my belief _before _Naboo._

The apprentice laid on the smooth, linen-decked bed in his quarters, watching a slat of light streak from under the blinds. "An abomination," He whispered, "And I should have killed it."

Wouldn't _that _have been a crowning moment in his life? After the horrible little legacy Obi-Wan left for his successor, to have the barrel pointed, and the fateful shot made by Bruck? It had been _so _close, and the savoring of what euphoria it could have been flooded his mouth.

Could have been, but wasn't. His initial thoughts were painted stark, in bright outrage and vivid anger. There they were, in total rule of the situation, standing above the eternal villain of their lives, and all that needed to be done, to finish him off, was another bolt. Or two. Even a strike of a saber, in his gut. But none of those were done, the opportunity squandered.

When his Master hoarsely ordered a healer to be retrieved, Bruck was flabbergasted, livid, one step away from just repeating that pull on the trigger. But he had to do as he was told.

And now, with the fever of battle and surprise cooled within him, the boy was glad Kenobi still lived. He even understood his Master's refusal to deliver the killing word.

There was _no way _Obi-Wan could have performed with such precision without substantial training, lessons definitely not received from the Jedi. Then who, or what, could be credited with the tight axles and flawless application of battle dance?

Bruck sat up, his bleached white braid sliding up from the pillows. They would know. The Order would not grant Kenobi leniency, despite his past among the ranks. Punishment and harsh inquisition would eventually extract from him the coiled, filthy secrets.

__

Obi-Wan.

It had been a long, long while since he heard his Master speak it. But, for the first time, Bruck couldn't be sure what sentiments consumed the accursed syllables.

"Obi-Wan." And there was no mystery behind those that colored his own pronunciation. None.

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Through the dismal wasteland of his mind, breaking past that single, perpetually playing memory, Qui-Gon could sense Bruck's waking movements. A sigh slipped from his lips, and he turned from the sweet tableau of Naboo morning, leaving with it the traces of a darker, deeper mourning. The smolder of coal skirted around his nostrils, though there were no fires brewing.

__

"You speak of someone long dead." But yet, the charred ghost cloyed, lifted in thin tendrils from the pyre built years before. Qui-Gon had done everything within his considerable power to rid his senses of the recollections. He had banished every last holo from his quarters, raided his desk for any residual artwork or scribbled note in that specific, slanted script.

And the room that Obi-Wan Kenobi had made his own for that blink of time, Qui-Gon had made sure it was eradicated of marks. He stripped the bed of its dressings, recoiling in disgust, in overwhelming sorrow, when the faint scent of the boy mingled in the air. He tore the portraits from the walls, ripped the model ships from their clear strings, gutted the modest closet of clothes, books, personal affects.

When he was through, chest heaving and sweat dripping from a haggard mop of hair, it was but a featureless, white box. It was as if Obi-Wan Kenobi had never stepped foot inside of it.

Since that moment, it had been a private quest of Qui-Gon's to will his mind to emulate that unaffected room. He needed to save his thoughts from the decay of incomplete memory.

But now, he knew it had been a coat of whitewash, rolled away in diluted drops at this onslaught of cold currents. Obi-Wan had taken up residence in the Master's soul, regardless of how abbreviated the stay turned out to be.

And he _had_ wondered what became of the boy, even after his world was repopulated by teaching. Sometimes, it was only a whisper, teasing the borders of his mind. But for a few instances, it became a howl, a demand. _Where _was his Padawan?

Then came the stringent denial. Obi-Wan was not his Padawan. In the history of his own life, such a brief interlude amounted to the barest of footnotes. Not even a year, in the company of _at least _fifty others.

Qui-Gon quickly, mechanically washed his face and ran his palms over the wrinkles in his tunic. _He was an acquaintance, really. _He avoided the mirrors of the lavatory and bed chamber, beyond caring that the weary lines of his face were forming ridges over his skin and his beard was a little too thick. _And, perhaps it would be different…if I believed I ever knew him in the first place._

Still, he had to fight off the hitch in his chest when that ivory face was there, in the sour aftertaste of yesterday, to usher him into the new stage of his mission.

Qui-Gon stood near the end of his lavishly decorated bed, posture slightly bowed, eyes closed. _Force damn me, another child taken by the dark. Even this child, who was so easily seduced from the Jedi._

Lids opened, to reveal slits of dusky, disenchanted sapphire. _This creature…whom I should have spared from utter depravity. I should have run him through that day. Let the Jedi blade save him from himself._

A humorless half-smile touched his face. _But it wouldn't have been an honorable act. No…It would have been for me. It would have been…_

Revenge.

Was that what this was? Was Obi-Wan Kenobi's convoluted want for retribution the reasoning behind his intricately executed plan, the omnipresent cloak sewn to his shoulders, in blood-red thread?

But Qui-Gon was not a stupid man, nor a naïve initiate. He knew there had to be more. No one lived by passion alone.

Unless the formidable figure standing at the hangar doors had been a malformed man, more a child, still nursing the sting of decade-old wounds. And if _that _was the ability contained in an unfinished form, then what possibilities awaited Obi-Wan upon maturity, if he was able to emerge from the tender, angry flesh…as something whole in its strength and less emotional in its drive?

"Are we to meet with the Queen now, Master?"

Bruck's voice was a welcome bell, tolling blissfully in his melancholic musings. Qui-Gon shirked the gloom, as much as he could, and turned around. "I imagine so." His voice was weighted by his conscious passing of the night, "If for nothing else, then to collect Anakin."

The comment brought a minor flinch to Bruck's face, quickly schooled.

Qui-Gon easily caught the reaction in the familiar, blunt features and offered a smile. "You needn't worry, Padawan. Anakin Skywalker _will _be trained, but he doesn't have an immediate need for intensive, Master-involved training. There will be time spent in rudimentary classes, learning basic skills. I hope we can both be there, in support of him," He reached out to clap a shoulder, "But the last chapters of your apprenticeship will have to be written, you know." His spirit had been pulled down to the dregs, but Qui-Gon managed a wink. "And I don't think you'd fare well without me to offer _some _guidance."

A heavy breath was unchained from Bruck, but he didn't visibly share the light joke. "I _know _I wouldn't fare well without you, Master." He looked away. "I got that distinct feeling yesterday, when I saw that….bastard, that death in his eyes."

Normally, Qui-Gon would admonish him for his coarse language, but he could forgive his student the error. The battle had left both of them battered and bruised--and not just externally. "It seems I am in equal need of _your _assistance, Padawan. I have to admit, seeing him was…"

But for the Master, there were no words.

"It was like a kick in the stomach." Bruck supplied, after a beat of awkward silence.

"Yes," Qui-Gon agreed, trailed away into a daze, reliving the moment for the umpteenth time, feeling that resounding thud against his abdomen. The palace quarters were decadent around them, with carved stone pillars and expansive windows, huge, heavily blanketed beds. The air was perfumed, the food was gourmet.

For the Jedi, it was not an uncommon scenario. They so often served those in the pits of poverty, but the actual work was done in surroundings such as these, in luxury that was almost a form of gratitude.

Padawans had a different way of handling the things to which Masters were politely accustomed. Especially the younger of the Order's proteges. Bruck had always shown the same, natural hungers of teenage boys, and took wide-eyed inventory of the complimentary packets of salted nuts and sweets. Xanatos was geared towards material perks, velvet throws and impressively wide holo screens. And on his very first assignment with his new Master, Obi-Wan had run to the window to see how spectacular a view they had been granted…

Qui-Gon's eyes clamped shut as he shook off the floating notion of a fragment of repeated past. For a weak, fanciful mind, this situation, standing here, in this extravagance, with a Padawan, could bring the thought that perhaps no years had separated him from his fallen apprentice, and that when he opened his eyes again, he would be looking at the handsome, gold-tinted visage of Obi-Wan Kenobi, ginger braid dangling at his ear.

There was a tiny tremor in his heart, and he _did _open his eyes. Bruck was staring at him with a pair of sharp, black pinpoints, surrounded by disks of pale blue. Strange, how in the pulse of battle, those pupils could expand and block out the icy color. "I couldn't sense him at all." Qui-Gon murmured. "Even with the wear of years, a Master can _always _feel the presence of their apprentice."

Bruck's chest tightened with the mention of Kenobi as _his _Master's student, but he said nothing about it. "He was never a friend of mine. Not even close. But there was always…" He shrugged, as though to diminish the importance of the topic, "Something very…" He _wouldn't _say 'special'," Weird about his signature in the Force. You could always tell it was him.

"That feeling in the hangar. That wasn't Oaf--That wasn't Kenobi. Not like I remember him, anyway."

"No." Qui-Gon shook his head, hands loose on his hips. "It wasn't like him at all. It wasn't until I saw him up close, when I _really_ saw him," He had to steel his bones against an intense shiver, "That I knew."

They started walking down the elegant corridor, settled in the comfortable quiet of the late years of their relationship, strides long and clean.

"I thought he was dead." Bruck said abruptly.

Qui-Gon swallowed the jagged boulder in his throat. _I didn't want to_. But the thought never reached the boy's ears.

Which didn't necessarily mean it didn't reach his other senses.

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	4. Chapter Four

This one is a bit shorter, but I wanted to get an update in this week. I have a part-time job now, but thankfully, it hasn't interfered with my writing.

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Ewan's girl Yeah, there are so many avenues this could take, it's just a little intimidating trying to choose! Thank you for the comments so much.

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Fudge Obi-Wan will join the fun…just not yet! Thank you for the review.

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Mystic665 Thank you!

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Athena Leigh I'm so glad you liked it. Writing Bruck was a bit of a challenge, since I've never really explored his character before-especially in an AU setting! Thank you for your support.

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Mayster Kaym Thank you so much!

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Jedi71 Thank you for reading and replying. I really appreciate it!

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Kynstar Somehow, I knew you'd be the first to comment here, girl! Thank you so, so much!

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Anakin Skywalker was trying very hard to be patient and still. Really, he was. All night, he had laid in his bed, hands folded over his stomach, eyes sturdily fastened shut. He regulated his breathing, even counted dewbacks. The problem with dewbacks was, they were slow creatures that _trudged_ through the desert landscaped across his consciousness, and while he waited for one to complete the journey over the dunes, his mind would start to wander to more exhilarating things. Like crackling swords of colored energy, the wonderfully dizzying speed of a starfighter as it jetted through the black, seeing the delicate, white pulse of nightlights so close they could graze his nose, watching an explosion rock space itself, feeling the rumble and knowing _he _had been the instigator of it all, while the others, the _adults_, looked on in surprise and _awe_.

Then he would blink in the darkness of the room and yank himself back to the present. It was like what Master Qui-Gon had told him, to 'live in the moment'. So that's what he did. He focused on the seconds as they ticked by, doing his best not to reflect on the past, or get caught in the whirlwind excitement and worry of the future. Anakin was motionless beneath the blanket, and marveled over how big the bed was, wide enough to fit at least four more, and long enough to tuck in another few. It was hugely different than his sleepcouch on Tatooine, barely more than an outcropping of the wall. Sometimes, he would be curled up on the thin mattress, and his mind would venture to the uncharted shadow lands of distant tomorrows, a time riddled with uncertainty. What would happen when he grew and his short bed no longer held him? Would it be like the shackles, always able to contort to fit him?

Now, suddenly, after years of dread, those questions seemed to have evaporated, instantly replaced by a new set. Would this strange title of the Chosen One, would it wrap around him so easily? He trusted Qui-Gon Jinn, that should have been enough to satisfy Anakin. But he wasn't satisfied. The man was his savior, but they remained something close to strangers, and Anakin was aware that he was different, an 'ugly little spot on the Force', as Bruck Chun had dubbed him. Would everyone else be able to function under Master Jinn's philosophy? Could they see Anakin as he was currently, or would their minds sift through the boy's past, searching for the ugly little spots?

Would the label of the Chosen One be the evolved chains, with all the old rust, locked to his wrists?

He had turned his head to press his cheek against the cool pillow, and studied the elaborate décor of the quarters. Everything was so pristine and beautiful, as though the fabric were spun by the fingers of angels.

Their translucent wings hovered in his sleepless, dreamy sight, along with a blur of chestnut, a flash of a soft smile.

Padme. This was Padme's home, and the thought settled in him as warmth. He felt her take rule of his musings, and that was appropriate, because she was Queen. Queen! And he had been oblivious, talking away to her, even chastising her for referring to him as…

But that was behind him. Qui-Gon's deep voice rang in Anakin's head, and that time, the boy had been grateful to return to the freshness of the unfolding night. Pad--Queen Amidala had welcomed his return from the aviated battle with tearful eyes and a tight embrace, followed by a long, sincere proclamation of her gratitude. He had been ecstatic to be the subject of her heartfelt joy, but became confused when Qui-Gon did not appear, to offer his own reactions.

After all, the Council people had named him guardian of Anakin. The boy had looked up at Padme, once it was obvious the man was not going to show.

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"That's alright, Ani. Master Jinn has been busied by something very important." She reached out her hand. "So you can come with me. The hero of Naboo deserves proper treatment!"

He was fed all sorts of sweets, things he'd never _heard_ of, but came to love more than anything he had ever previously tasted. Once his belly was swelled to bursting, Padme and her cadre of friends introduced him to his own, private room in the Palace. The best, Padme assured him. She even made sure he was comfortable in the bed before turning down the lights and shutting the door.

He could sense her now, as he peeked out that same door, dressed in a new, pressed cream tunic, his hair wet and tangled, but clean.

Moments later, the sovereign stopped in the hallway outside his room, and favored him with a grin. She was more Padme than Amidala today, in a fine silk gown of short, outturned layers, with coalescing hues of ivory, violet and pale yellow. Her hair was pulled into a fanned bun, drawing the eye to a white oval that rose above her shoulders and head, studded with simple, silvery jewels.

There were elements of royalty returned to her face, but were limited to the tiny scarlet dots on each cheek, and the scarlet stripe that divided her bottom lip.

Anakin smiled shyly at her.

But Padme was having none of it, remembering too well the sprite that was free to say anything to her, and confide in her his deepest emotions. She rested slim fingers against the wooden door and looked down at the boy. "I'm not liking the act, Ani." Padme chuckled lightly, though her tone was serious, "You must know I am the same person you met on Tatooine."

Anakin felt the fire of a blush and ducked his head. "I know. It's just that…" His blue eyes lifted to meet hers, "You…look…not like yourself. It's hard to remind myself…"

Wordlessly, she crouched in front of him, losing none of her grace in the process. "Anakin," Her hands framed his small, freshly scrubbed face, "Have you so quickly forgotten what I told you on the starship?"

He couldn't help but gaze into the warm, liquid depths of her eyes, seeing such light reflected back to him he had to swallow a thickening lump. "Things _are_ changing, Padme," Anakin said, "And I'm gonna leave soon."

"So you are," She whispered, her thumb tracing the curve of his cheek, and the corner of her lip twisting in a faint smile, "But you deserve what comes next, Ani. You'll be a Jedi, and you'll know such happiness. You'll have an entire family so big, you won't be able to keep the names straight."

He giggled a little at that.

"And I'll be here, hoping for that happiness, keeping you with me in that way." The Queen stroked the damp, flaxen strands of hair. "Caring for you always, as I said I would."

They both heard the echo of approaching footsteps, and Anakin lunged into her arms, clutching her against him.

Padme returned the embrace, wiping a tear from each eye before stepping away.

Qui-Gon Jinn and Bruck Chun bowed to her, the Master's attention shifting from the young woman to her younger companion.

"Ani," The man said with affection, "I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier, to congratulate you."

"That's okay," The child beamed, glancing at Padme, "I was treated like a hero. Four desserts for dinner!"

Qui-Gon and the Queen laughed at that, linked in sound and Anakin's heart by their unique devotions to him. He felt that thing called the Force glow inside him, boosted in luminosity by love, something far simpler to understand.

But he would comprehend the complexities of the Force. Not now, but that was what his Jedi training was for. And then he would be a hero again, several times over. Like Qui-Gon was.

Anakin resisted the urge to rock back and forth on his heels. He would be apart from Padme, and his mother, but it would be worth the sacrifice in the end. It had to be.

Qui-Gon rested a hand on Anakin's shoulder and turned a smile to Padme. "And congratulations are in order to you as well, your Highness. Naboo has emerged from this."

Padme took a breath. "Yes," And her lashes fell momentarily, "We have survived." When her eyes were revealed once more, they were coated in somber tones. "But this war…it has brought shadows with it." She swallowed, watching the Master's expression closely, "Hasn't it, Master Jinn?"

Qui-Gon was impressed, and not for the first time, by her high level of perception. "You speak of the warrior."

Padme stole a look at Anakin, concerned his ears were too tender for the subject. But then she saw that the Master made no move to shelter the child, so she answered, "Yes."

Qui-Gon began to walk beside her, Anakin and Bruck just slightly behind.

The corridor emptied out into a grand area of windows that bathed the floor in Naboo dawn. A beam of light crossed over Padme, and Anakin looked appreciatively at the display.

Bruck noticed, and smirked.

"What was it?" Padme wondered in a disturbed, low voice to Qui-Gon. "I can't say I have the touch of the Force, Master Jedi, but the vibe was felt by just about everyone."

"It was…" Qui-Gon paused while a shiver coursed his body, "It was a man. A…former Jedi."

Padme came very close to tripping over her shock, disguised as the train of her gown. "What?"

The Master sighed. It was difficult enough to run through the impossible scenario in his own head. It was like solidifying the reality of a nightmare by repeating it aloud. "He was a Jedi once. In his childhood. He was…" The moisture dried to nonexistence in his throat. "He was my student, if only for a very short time."

Padme rubbed at her arms, as if inexplicably cold. "Your apprentice?"

__

Gods why does she have to say it? Qui-Gon galvanized his nerves and grappled for residual composure, "He strayed. He was--He was very young, and thought he was doing what was right." He shook his head as the pressure crept into his chest again, "But it wasn't right. And there was no forgiveness for that decision."

Padme craned her neck to look up at the towering figure. "The Jedi wouldn't forgive him?"

Qui-Gon held her gaze until the pain of his frown took dominance. "_I _wouldn't forgive him. And the Jedi never had the chance."

"Why?"

The Master's tone was flat, devoid of inflection or emotion. "Because he never came back."

)(


	5. Chapter Five

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Audreidi Thank you so much for reading! I'm so enjoying 'Tatooine Engagement' and I'm honored to have you among my reviewers. Obi-Wan will make his appearance, don't worry.

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Fudge Thank you so much!!!

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Athena Leigh I'm so, so glad you're reading and 'keeping it real', so to speak. I very much appreciate your reviews, although I think you already know that.

)(

Senator Palpatine of Naboo stood at the main doors of the Palace, wrapped in thick, violet regality and a very small smile. The crisp staccato of Amidala's footsteps reverberated against the walls, signaling her arrival before he saw the creamy sweep of her gown or the spark of glitter in her eyes.

She was caught in the crossfire of exaltation and devastation, the man knew, proud of her people and their unexpected victory, yet mournful for the lives sacrificed in the fight. The conflicting emotions were held in perfect balance on her features. As a monarch, it would not fare well for her to surrender fully to either feeling.

Palpatine had been in politics since he was nearly as young as Amidala. It had not taken him long to realize that to lead a people, one must also captivate them, a specific kind of enchantment that went beyond an attractive face or gentle voice. Palpatine had learned the fine drama of government, and with time, became as seasoned an actor as any that appeared on film. He could manipulate the issues held tenderly by the public, so that he gained a place in gullible hearts--or even win over his fellow senators with a few well-worded sentiments.

He watched with pale cobalt eyes the Queen's advancement. The young woman was surrounded by a distinctly different entourage this morning. Jinn, his Padawan. And the boy.

It was certainly not the first time he had come in contact with the revered rogue of the Jedi Temple. Naboo's struggle against the Trade Federation had brought Palpatine into the man's company on several occasions. Each meeting had renewed the acrid contempt bubbling inside the Senator. Qui-Gon Jinn had tested his skills repeatedly. And more than once, Palpatine had come close to revealing a grimace or uttered curse.

But he held tight to the reins. It would be quite foolish of him to construct an elaborate tower of such fatal beauty, build it above all else, only to leave it to ruins with one moment of weakness. So he was civil, cordial, disarming as was humanly possible. His performance was award-winning, as Qui-Gon Jinn was unaware of the dupe, oblivious of the impenetrable cage closing around him and his beloved Order.

Something was changed in the man today, Palpatine noted with a private smugness. The mask of serenity had fractured, as seams appeared where there had been an aloof, smooth expression. Shadow ringed the eyes that came to settle on him.

__

Was sleep elusive, Jedi? Laughter rasped within his mind. _Did your conscience come to call after all?_

Amidala stopped before her colleague and smiled warmly. "Good morning, Senator."

Palpatine took her slim hand in his, grasping it tight between bleached fingers, then lifted it to graze his lips. "Praise to the gods, my dear friend, that I find you alive and well today." He bowed, his gaze straying from her face to that of Qui-Gon. "And double that praise, for your Jedi protectors are safe as well."

"Thank you." The Master stood at Padme's shoulder, his formidable form enhanced by the long drape of grayed chestnut and the reserved air of his chiseled countenance. He studied the elated Senator a moment before responding, "I would like nothing more than to believe Naboo's safety is secured. But our survival was a near thing. During the battle in the palace, my apprentice and I were engaged in combat by an…extremely skilled warrior. I am absolutely sure," Palpatine watched as the man was forced to pause and collect breath, "He was targeting the Queen."

"That's despicable." The older man drew back in feigned shock. "An assailant of the Federation, I would assume?"

Qui-Gon did not allow the contractions of agony to reach his face. "No. I don't…I don't believe so."

"Oh." The intrigue ran rich in Palpatine's voice. "A bounty hunter, then?"

Padme glanced up at Qui-Gon with acute compassion. She saw the torture playing out in him. And after laying his life, and that of his student's, down for her world, the Queen knew she could do this much. "He was a former pupil of Master Jinn's, Senator." She informed him with admirable stoicism. "He left the Jedi and never returned."

"How…odd." Palpatine commented, a fingertip touching to his chin. "I am unfamiliar with such a situation. I was under the impression that Jedi were severely dedicated to their purpose." It rolled from his mouth like an afterthought, quickly abandoned in favor of new inquiries, "No one was brought to harm from this threat, were they? I would be most upset to hear of more casualties from this bloody little war."

"No. I was able to take him down, Senator," Bruck interjected with obvious gloat, taking a half-step forward. Then, as if he suddenly remembered, "After Master Qui-Gon had sufficiently distracted him, of course."

Palpatine smiled at the Padawan, hiding his derision behind counterfeit approval. "Of course, my young comrade." His focus was shifted by the small form that had wedged itself between the Queen and the Master Jedi. The Senator drew his eyes downward to Anakin Skywalker's face. "And my _younger _comrade, I have heard quite an earful about you."

Panic stirred in the wide azure eyes, and he saw a small hand start to clutch the fabric of Qui-Gon's legging.

The Senator laughed. "Nothing bad, I assure you, lad. Quite the opposite, in fact."

Anakin flushed. "What?"

Palpatine sensed the tentative pride lifting shyly in the child. He patted the blonde head. "You seem to be the savior of our people, Anakin Skywalker," He nodded toward Padme, "Many thanks are owed to you."

"Oh," Relief shone in the boy and his grip eased on Qui-Gon. He was comfortable in the collective embrace of his accomplishment, albeit accidental. "Everyone's saying I'm a hero." Anakin grinned.

"And they're correct." Palpatine enthused, all the while observant of Master Jinn's attention honed in on him. He didn't feel the suffocation or claustrophobia of the intense focus. _If only you understood how much longer I have kept my eye on YOU, Qui-Gon Jinn. _Perhaps the man wasn't the complete imbecile Palpatine liked to believe, but still, it was merely a faint precaution on Qui-Gon's part.

Nothing to be overly concerned about. Yet.

Palpatine cleared his throat and regarded the Queen again. "A sweeping celebration has been planned, your Highness. The Gungans wish to extend a hand in permanent alliance to you through a formal tradition. And the people crave a public outlet for their rapture."

Padme smiled the strange smile of a Naboo royal, lips unevenly painted. "I will be more than glad to attend," Lines intruded the soft skin of her forehead, "But my heart _will_ be heavy, with those who won't want to see streamers or hear music just yet."

She felt Qui-Gon's large, warm hand rest on her shoulder. "It is natural to feel that way, your Highness. But it is better to revel in morning, than hold to the night."

Padme stared out the window, a slow smile dawning on her, while a moist gleam formed in her eyes. "You're right, Master Jinn." She turned to the man, and to his surprise, favored him with a shallow curtsy. "Be sure to hear your own words." It was on the verge of a whisper, meant for him alone, and then the young woman resumed her professionalism.

Bruck moved closer to his Master, as if to question the unusual action, but he thought better of it.

They spoke in depth of the day's scheduled proceedings, a companionable dialogue, until the Queen's trusted bodyguard, Captain Panaka, joined the small group. He was dressed in his normal uniform, and commanding his usual presence.

"Good morning." He said, a little breathless, foregoing individual greetings, "Milady, Master Jinn, the attacker has been isolated on a floor of Theed Hospital."

"An entire floor?" Padme's brows were sewn.

Panaka nodded. "It's akin to quarantine, I was told. Only authorized individuals are allowed to enter the floor. And, as a precaution, they are encouraged to be…armed."

"Armed?" Qui-Gon's voice had gone noticeably dry, "Has he not been subdued by his injury?"

The Captain shook his head, unable to offer a better response "It was a deep wound. The bolt has been removed and he's been administered a powerful sedative. The head physician wants him to remain in a state of catatonia until…until you've arrived, Master Jinn."

Qui-Gon's eyes closed for a brief second. "Alright."

This time, Bruck couldn't restrain his concern, or his mild flare of irritation. "Master?"

"It will be alright, Padawan. As a Jedi, I've dealt with far worse things." Qui-Gon had to dampen the blaze through the Force brought on by the outright lie. He squeezed the boy's shoulder. "Don't worry yourself."

"I'll come as well." Padme said, brooking no argument in her tone.

Palpatine spoke up, "I'll join you, Milady. I believe I need to be appraised of this warrior for myself."

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	6. Chapter Six

I would do individual reviews, but I have to go to work. So a huge, heartfelt thank you to **ewan's girl**, **tenshiamanda**, **Audreidi**, **Annon.**, **Fudge**, **Athena Leigh** and **Kynstar**. You all are wonderful for taking the time to say what you think.

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Something was pulling down on him. A leaden weight pressed against his consciousness.

Tired. He was tired. But no--that wasn't it, exactly. The heavy feeling wasn't from an overtaxing of limb or mind. It was a clean fog, without source or painful sensation. He laid in the dense gray, not moving, stretching his acutely honed senses through the numbing layers, resisting when the balm began to thicken around his probe. It was tempting to fall away into oblivion again, instead of taking the grueling steps uphill, with what little traction he could claim.

But he could not abide _anything _taking control over him. The ether haze was aiming to wear down his defenses, so that it could settle him in midnight once more. He could not allow himself to be returned to the doldrums. His awareness was his lifeguard, never abandoned, not even when he was forced into the temporary surrender of sleep. He was always tuned to his surroundings, searching for threats, trained to recognize and terminate enemies. Such was his existence-his purpose.

And so he began to comb through the mangled fibers of his memory, his recent memory, to explain why he was lost in this foreign, lethargic replica of his mind. It did not come easily or quickly. The veils were stubbornly fixed over his recollections, and he had to strip them away, layer by layer.

When it was done, he was fuddled a moment by the disorientation of what lay in his hands, the strips of yesterday, or maybe the day before that. Pain. He remembered pain, shooting through him and spreading along his body like lightening dissected by a tree. A blaster bolt. That explained his current state. Drugs. Yes. He was being fed drugs, continuously, he wagered, from the extent of his previous struggles. They were to blame for the nothingness he wallowed in. Perhaps the sweetest temptation he had been offered in a long while…

He jolted from the tangent, blinking his mind's eye rapidly to regain clarity. So he had been injured and was now incapacitated. There was a fire-hot flare of anger in reaction to that, but he didn't linger in the emotion. He took further steps backward, into the dimmed panorama of stolen memories. It was not a new experience for him. He had often attempted a reconciliation with blurred fragments of his past, but never had his retrieves been successful. After awhile, he let the curiosity fade.

This was different. It was a matter of survival, and the mission would not take him back _years_, but days. A simple enough task. He only had to reach a bit further, just before the bolt collided with him. What had happened? His hold on everything was oiled again, and his fingers were hopelessly slipping. Still, he clung to that question and dug through the rising pall.

What had happened to him? Who shot him? And _why_?

He became motionless within his thoughts, drawing in until he was perfectly centered, breath suspended, then flexed outward. The distant images sharpened, were given color and dimension.

Two. There had been two. Tall. Young and…not as young. But not old, either. Who were they? He strained to reveal more contour and detail to his vision, to take the shadow from the hidden faces. They were approaching him…slowly…each brandishing a…sword? Swords, not blasters.

He tried to stretch his mind around that and nearly dropped off into the drugged sea again.

It didn't make sense, yet, but that was the reality as he knew it. They had swords, and they were coming toward him.

The next handful of moments were smeared, reaching him as jumps and swerves, but nothing specific. One of them fell away, and he was…yes…he was _defending _himself against another…or was he the attacker? He couldn't be sure. Green and red meshed together. That was all he could see, bright and sizzling.

And then, the face was lit by the sparks.

The face…

He hurdled through the medicated, coiled clouds and his eyes snapped open.

)(

Qui-Gon felt his intestines twist and the air lock in his chest. He turned to his apprentice, but Bruck was unscathed by whatever it was that had afflicted his Master. The youth was talking to Senator Palpatine, but Qui-Gon's ears were inexplicably clogged, and he was insulated from the words.

In desperation, in frantic prayer that he was not alone in the sudden symptoms, he moved his eyes beyond the pair, to Amidala and Anakin. The girl was wearing her delicate, refined version of solemnity, eyes shining and mouth silent. Still, she appeared to have no knowledge of what was terrorizing the Master.

The boy. The boy was staring up at him, a purely blue gaze that imbedded itself in Qui-Gon's mind. Anakin was looking at his new companion as if there were some painful kinship between them, an affinity that separated them from the others.

But perhaps it was only the Master's imagination, a projection of his own feelings. Nevertheless, he ventured to speak to him, "Are you alright, Ani?" He whispered.

The child was going pale, almost disappearing into the white expanse of the Naboo hospital. The planet was renowned for gorgeous, old world architecture and the incorporation of nature into every design. But for medical facilities, the standard palate-and smell-was intact. They were on the main floor, heading for the reception desk. Qui-Gon spared a moment in his discomfort to appreciate the odd quality of their group: two Jedi, a recently freed slave boy, a Senator and the Queen. They moved together under the fluorescent grid of lighting, artificial illumination that hovered lovingly around Padme and cast Anakin's hair more golden, while sucking out the small flushes from Palpatine's now colorless face. And for Bruck, harsh lights always seemed to burn the boy's scalp. Of course, that was merely Qui-Gon's thought, not based on any actual evidence.

He saw Anakin's little throat working to swallow. "Yeah, I…guess."

Qui-Gon motioned for the boy to walk beside him, and they traveled ahead of the rest, the man's large hand falling to eclipse the much smaller shoulder. "Are you noticing anything strange?"

Anakin shrugged, squinting in thought. "I dunno. It's…"

"It's what?"

"Weird." He slumped in defeat. "I'm not sure what it is, Master Qui-Gon. It's kinda like after a bad sandstorm. There's all this crud on your skin and you wash and wash, but there's still some there, a feeling of it." His cheeks were red and he ducked his head, "That's what it's like, I guess."

Qui-Gon smiled softly, almost laughing. "You're very perceptive, Ani."

The boy smiled at the comment, edging a little closer to the man. He folded his hands, fingers cold from the conditioned climate, and clamped down his nerves. "Master Qui-Gon?"

"Yes?"

His eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the valiant, maybe heroic face, "What do you think it's like?"

The Master paused in thought. _Like being impaled by a knife already stained with your blood. _But instead, "Same as you, I'd say."

Anakin's grin widened, though his eyes were hooded by the residue of what they were both sensing.

Qui-Gon ran his fingers through the silky hair, wishing this dark patch from his past did not have such an effect on the innocent child, while simultaneously wondering why Bruck, a schooled Jedi Padawan, was unhindered.

Far too soon, the space between them and the reception desk shrunk to a few steps, and the young woman stood from her datapad, obviously expecting them.

"Master Jinn?" Her violet eyes strayed to the Queen behind him, but she quickly composed. "You are here to evaluate…the patient occupying floor twelve?"

Qui-Gon nodded. "Yes. I was told he was--"

A buzz sounded from the desk's comm, and the receptionist excused herself to answer it.

Qui-Gon turned around and sunk to Anakin's eye level, bracing his shoulders. "I want you to stay here, Ani. Okay?"

A protest tingled at the boy's lips, but he smiled. "Okay."

"And this time, actually _obey _what I say." He pressed a thumb to Anakin's chin and sighed. "At least there are no starfighters lying around this time."

The remark gleaned amused smiles from everyone, relieving a fraction of the dread and uncertainty that hung stagnant in the atmosphere.

Short-lived, for then the woman ended her conversation, and gently called to Qui-Gon. "Master Jinn, I've just spoken with the leading physician on the case. He needs you now." She passed him a slim stack of emerald chips, "These are clearance cards. They will allow you all to gain entry to the floor. I advise you to be careful."

Qui-Gon asked if she would watch Anakin during the visit, to which she readily agreed and made space for the boy behind the desk. Anakin looked stricken to be parted from his friends, but quickly found entertainment in the swiveling of his chair and a candy stick plucked from a mug of sweets.

The Master was gratified to her, trusting his ward would be safe.

He could not say the same for the rest of them. Himself included.

He was striding to the lift, flanked by Amidala and Bruck, Palpatine a half-step behind them, but paused to look back at the receptionist. "If I may ask, why am I needed so badly, so suddenly?"

"Because," She replied, her voice chilled, "The patient is awake."

)(

Velis Marlwen stood at the side of the cot, a bent finger pressed at the space above his lip, the thin shadows of his spectacles streaking an extra set of sharp, angular brows up to his forehead. He was a decade older than the man restrained before him, perhaps more, if the weary marks on the pale face were not attributed to the passing of time. Both were black-haired, but Marlwen wore a neat beard.

He was never a haughty man, given to extreme conceit or overestimating his own abilities. But, Velis could admit, he was a very good doctor. The best on Naboo, it was rumored, a title which earned him another, as the personal physician of Senator Palpatine. He could diagnose an infinite number of diseases, treat most, and cure those that were curable. Recently, Velis had caught the attention of some well-known specialists, the finest Coruscant, and so the Universe, could boast.

And yet, here he was, perplexed and downright frustrated by the miraculous emergence of someone he had expected to remain comatose for at least three days longer.

The man, name supplied for Marlwen as Kenobi, was far from fully cognizant, but the eyes had burst to life a few minutes before, shot through with thread-like veins. Machines shrieked their surprise, and Velis could sympathize, gasping a robust curse when he witnessed for himself the abrupt waking. The security officials stationed outside the door had instantly encircled the bed, weapons pointed at Kenobi.

It had been Marlwen's duty to sate them and send them outside once more, slightly disturbed that one seriously weakened man could command such fear and hostility. He held no fondness toward Kenobi, but his oath as a healer overrode emotion and his personal inclinations. Velis would protect the health of this man, despite the obvious danger he posed.

Kenobi had battled the cocktail served him, barreling into consciousness, but it was a temporary victory. Very quickly, the enemy of Naboo, the attempted murderer of its beloved Queen, was brought down from wild awareness to a groggy, heavy-lidded condition.

Velis was a short span away from Kenobi, but he wasn't sure the man knew he was there. His pupils were fixed on the bland wall in front of him, his chest moving with shallow, fast breaths.

He had been informed of the confrontation between Kenobi and the Jedi, the staggering extent of his skills. But Velis had seen nothing of that. He only knew Kenobi was awake and less than confrontational.

And so, after great deliberation, Velis chanced words. "You're not supposed to be awake, you know."

Kenobi blinked, but his eyes would not open more. "I'm not supposed to be here at all."

It was said without inflection. Velis thought that the monitors, when screaming their reaction, showed more feeling. Still, he preferred an absence of it to vehemence…or violence. "I'd say that was your decision, wasn't it?" A gusty thing to tell him, but he didn't feel even a tingle of trepidation.

A smile crooked the corner of Kenobi's mouth. "I could kill you this very moment, if I wanted to."

The soft words seeped as venom into Velis, yet he mirrored the wry smile with his own. "I could have done the same to you, if I had wanted to." He reached out to adjust the clear tubes snaking from the man's nose, then rested his palm against the clammy forehead. "But here you are."

"_Indeed_. And will I be permitted to walk out of 'here', I wonder?"

"Oh," Velis' laugh rumbled, "I think you already know the answer to that." The humor drained from his face, "The Queen will hardly allow you to waltz offplanet, when yesterday you were hunting her down."

The dour smile clung to Kenobi, glinting in his scarlet-washed eyes. "Who says I was hunting down the Queen?"

Velis Marlwen frowned, arms over chest. "What do you--"

The door slid open and Velis' dark eyes met with the startling blue of an imposing figure, stirring comparisons of royalty in stature and expression. Which wasn't too far off, since on Coruscant and numerous other worlds, the Jedi were regarded with a respectful awe usually reserved for the crowned.

The Jedi Master stood in the doorframe, a guard at each shoulder.

"Qui-Gon Jinn?" Velis asked, to be sure.

The piercing gaze misted over for a second, pulled toward the restrained Kenobi involuntarily, then crystallized again. "Yes. I…" He blinked, "The Queen, Senator Palpatine and my apprentice are waiting outside. I was uncertain if they would be safe."

The physician glanced at his patient and shrugged. "Well, I'm in one piece." He motioned with a nod toward a far corner of the room, and Qui-Gon followed him. Velis' voice was so low a whisper would have been stronger. "But that might have something to do with his current physical limitations."

Qui-Gon nodded gravely, gray shadow shading his leonine face, "Has he said anything?"

"We engaged in some charming small talk."

The irony was lost on the Master. "Is he alright?"

"He'll live." Velis trailed his finger along the side of his glasses, "But certain aspects of his recovery, so far, have concerned me. I've been on this case since he was brought in from the hangar. I've monitored him for about twenty hours straight, and during that time, he's been asleep." The man shook his head, "But it hasn't been a smooth sleep. The combination of medications and salves should have left him in black, beyond that of exhaustion. He was never that far down. I watched him, in several instances, almost _convulsing_ in the restraints. You'd have thought he was being tortured."

A flinch, but the Master immediately reprieved. _Remember what he is. Or, even better, what he ISN'T. _"An adverse reaction to the drugs?"

"No, I checked."

"I see…" Qui-Gon blew out a breath, wiping at his eyes with a spent smile, "I'm sorry. This is all beyond surreal to me."

Velis squeezed his shoulder. "I understand. I thought you should be here. If he's going to say anything of importance to anyone, I thought it would be someone he was at least acquainted with."

"I'll do what I can, Doctor. Thank you."

Velis gave a tight-lipped nod, then headed for the door. "The guards are right outside if you need assistance." He told Qui-Gon--though he meant it more for Kenobi, as an unobtrusive warning.

Qui-Gon remained under the thin canopy of shadow, back turned from the other presence in the room.

"Beyond surreal? Hm. Nice description."

The voice was matured and bereft of warmth. Qui-Gon's heart seemed to shrivel in his chest, an aching pit, as he remembered the innocence Obi-Wan had always carried, to the day on Melida/Daan when their path was divided. Where had that boy gone? Who or what had killed the child, and replaced him with this…this unfeeling _creature_?

The Master sighed and turned, still unprepared for the jolt through his system when he came faced with the tainted sight of Obi-Wan Kenobi. For whole minutes, he was silent, traveling the length of the body, the endless stretch of memory. The two would not join in his mind. How could _this_ be Obi-Wan?

"He's coming, isn't he?"

Qui-Gon grasped for focus. "Who?"

The pasty fingertips curled and uncurled. "The troll. He's on his way--almost here, I'd say."

The Master was seized by an acrid streak of fury. He wanted something to break through the steel over those eyes. Hells, he would settle for a quiver. "He loved you. Even after you left. Despite what you say, Yoda has mourned you ever since."

His effort failed miserably. Kenobi was unchanged by the remarks. "Would you speak to someone of their past life, _Master Jinn_, and expect them to remember? Or care?"

Qui-Gon snorted. "Are you dead, Obi-Wan? If so, you've dressed the corpse up rather nicely."

The words hit their mark, and for the first time, the conscious patient erupted in his restraints, pulling and jerking against them. "_Don't _call me that." He hissed. "Or you WILL regret it."

The sallow hospital lights enhanced the bruised crescents under the former Jedi's ashy eyes, but it did not lend him a shred of vulnerability. Even chained and intoxicated, this man who had been Obi-Wan Kenobi was lethal.

"You're not in the position to make threats. Not when one word from me could send a dozen palace guards in here, totally willing and able to shoot more than your shoulder."

His cold response was met with stinging laughter. "As if you're in much of a position to threaten _me. _If you kill me, you'll never figure out what I'm doing here."

Qui-Gon studied the face, undeniably handsome and reminiscent of those features, though younger, eternally etched into his memory. Rebellious of his good sense, his fingers shivered with the temptation to touch that face. But he couldn't, for fear it was an exquisitely designed hologram that would shimmer and wink out if he did.

Obi-Wan was right. He _needed _to know what was going on, if this had been an independent ambush, or if it could be traced back to a specific source. And, more than that, Qui-Gon needed to know why Obi-Wan, sweet tempered and compassionate to a fault, had let himself mutate into a fiend who would initiate such savagery, would stand on the side of carnage.

Qui-Gon's vision blurred on his brief apprentice, as he traipsed into darker thought, his eye transfixed by the bands locked around Obi-Wan's wrists. Could it be that this had been his true nature? Was the Code a glossy shackle Obi-Wan bore, until he could stand it no more and unleashed himself, in all sinister glory? Had his years among the Jedi been a walking nightmare for Obi-Wan, a place he returned in sleep that caused the paroxysms?

Were the few soft memories of the boy that Qui-Gon had privately held in his heart just as curdled as the rest? The glowing core within the child…was that a screen that disguised the darkness beneath?

"What _are_ you doing here?" Qui-Gon wondered, in a monotone husk of a voice.

Obi-Wan shrugged weakly, a flush starting in his waxen skin. "Same as you."

"I find that difficult to believe."

The younger man smiled, and it was a mockery of the smile Qui-Gon recalled, a total antithesis. "Of course you do." He murmured. "But we're each here because we have been led here."

Qui-Gon took a step forward. "And who leads you, Obi-Wan?"

The eyelids slipped close, and for all his apparent power, Obi-Wan had to strive to open them again. "I didn't recognize you at first, Master Jinn. You seemed…" The consciousness was rapidly retreating from him, and a peculiar smile floated over him, "Very small."

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	7. Chapter Seven

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Ewan's girl Thank you!

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Athena Leigh Hey, hey, I _must _defend myself! In the SW novels they even talk about how Obi-Wan (and Anakin) are good looking! I'm just keeping in tone with those..yeah…that's it. Hee hee. So glad you're enjoying.

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Audreidi What turned Obi-Wan? Very good question.

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Fudge Well, who _wouldn't _prefer Obi-Wan to that decrepit old guy? But seriously, thanks for your kind words.

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YLJedi Thank you so much!

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Kynstar You're so sweet. Thank you.

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LoriC I apologize for so many of my fics being in progress, but my imagination has a mind of its own, and sometimes, just demands opening that new document and thinking up a fresh title. I'll do my very best to update as often as possible. Thank you!

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Qui-Gon watched the energy deflate and expire in Obi-Wan Kenobi, and the young man slumped against the pillow, ebony lashes streaked against his ivory skin.

__

Very small. The Master stood there, thinking the same of this pallid shadow. In battle, he had been an iced illustration of intimidation and expertise, nearly flawless in his maneuvers. But now, with the trappings peeled away, he was just a patient in a hospital bed, vulnerable and dependent on the monitors connected to his veins.

And Obi-Wan was thin. Qui-Gon had previously overlooked his body composition. The shock was still a frozen face of horror inside him, mouth a terrified circle, but his mind was not as stalled as it had been. He now saw that beneath the roomy drape of the cloth gown, Obi-Wan was very lean and only finely muscled. His skin was wet porcelain, fair, and appearing as a yellowed contusion in a few places. The raven hair lay limp around his face.

But, Qui-Gon thought, gods help him, he _looked _like Obi-Wan, regardless of the modifications.

Evil was real, the Master was certain of that. It had sought him out from the earliest days of his life, always lusting after his demise, but only succeeding in igniting his sorrow. This was another attempt, carefully carried out. Who else but the Dark could create Qui-Gon's perfect idea of hell? This was _not _a dressed-up corpse. Death would have been a kinder alternative for his one-time Padawan, and the shadows knew it.

He didn't want to forfeit to the utter tragedy, balancing on a spindle, waiting to topple over on him, in him. He didn't want to rip open those long-sewed wounds in his heart, to let the soak of cataclysmic failure renew what had festered.

Yet, his fingers stretched out, to fall upon a cool cheek…

And swerved, resting in the glossed mane instead. Qui-Gon's belly went rigid, but he stayed his touch, inspired beyond the realm of fear and depression. _This _was what he truly wanted. Not a hot-blooded shouting match, or an admission of grievous sin. He wanted to touch something of Obi-Wan, and know he wouldn't fade to a specter of his reveries.

Nightmares. Obi-Wan was having nightmares, and here was the aftermath, the return to peaceful sleep, with a hint of his unconscious exertions coloring his face.

It was too much. It was too familiar, the entire scene. Marlwen's descriptions had stirred an unnamed sense in Qui-Gon, but now, that name was resurrected, just as the name of Obi-Wan Kenobi had been. Because Qui-Gon could see clearly what it was to witness him in the grips of nighttime terror. He didn't want the two to relate. He didn't want the current form of Obi-Wan to ruin that tender memory, nor did he want the innocence of the child he had been to cloud his perceptions of the man shackled to the cot.

But the water ran, the colors and tones melted together, the black of Obi-Wan's hair became the darkness of his room…

__

The shrieks shot through the silence like glass shards, lunging into Qui-Gon's awareness and sending him flying, without thought, from his bed. His lumbering steps echoed in the narrow corridor, in time with the repeated word in his head.

'Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan.'

He burst into the tiny quarters. The high-pitched cries were amplified by his proximity. Qui-Gon could hear them resounding in every inch of his body, standing every hair. His desperate movements knocked over a chair and cracked a holodisc, but the din was lost under the riddled rain of his Padawan's senseless screams, and he would have trampled through hot coals, if it would have brought him to the boy's side.

Obi-Wan's thrashing was outlined by the moon, the rest of him was concealed by midnight. Barely able to see, Qui-Gon lurched forward, drawing out his arms and scooping the spastic child up against him.

Half-formed fists beat his chest and shoulder. Disjointed sounds were thrown out in breathless panic. The Master could not allow himself to be affected by any of it. He clutched Obi-Wan tightly to him, carrying him from the darkened bedroom to the amber-lit common room.

After the past two episodes, occurring over the past two nights, the Master had left a few glow rods on a low, dusky setting. He had contemplated adding one to the boy's quarters, but it was too small, and closed in spaces seemed to aggravate the effects of the nightmares.

Qui-Gon sat on the edge of the sofa and gathered the lanky body in his unyielding embrace, to prevent the violent reaction from harming either of them. It would not comfort Obi-Wan, not yet. From his unhappy experiences, Qui-Gon knew the rest of the ugly fantasy had to play out. There was no shaking the poor youth out of it.

Obi-Wan twisted in his fright, scratching at the air, catching his Master's flesh more than once. The blood welled on Qui-Gon, but he didn't notice, enduring what he had to, waiting with feeble stoicism for his student to awaken.

It wasn't long before the apartment communicator was buzzing. The unholy bellows were disturbing their Temple neighbors, many not even on the same floor. A security docent would be at the door before it was over. And Qui-Gon would have to explain that his Padawan's overactive imagination had flared again, in the midst of his slumber.

He didn't know what monsters chased Obi-Wan in his dreams. By morning, the recollections had evaporated along with the tears, and the boy was oblivious to his spasms, his only evidence the slight rawness of his throat, and the minor injuries to the older Jedi's person, to which he responded with great shame. Qui-Gon always gently nudged the boy to tell him, at the trembling core of night, when the memory was fresh, but he was rendered silent by his ordeal.

Perhaps tonight would be different. Qui-Gon prayed that it would be, for his tortured Padawan's sake. If his singular intervention could not remedy the nightmares, he would be forced to take Obi-Wan to the Healers' for a full medical report, something that was the boy's widely known definition of nightmare.

The frenzied body slowly eased against Qui-Gon and the wails were shortened to gasps. Qui-Gon cupped Obi-Wan's head and rested it on his shoulder, rocking and whispering in his ear. Obi-Wan whimpered, seized up again by incubus, but it was momentary.

At last, the tension in his muscle settled, and one final moan stretched out guttural from the boy.

"Wake up." Qui-Gon murmured. "Wake up now, Obi-Wan. Tell me you're alright."

Obi-Wan kicked out suddenly, then went totally still, his fingers tangled in Qui-Gon's hair.

Silence was suspended in the common room for several minutes, during which Master soothed apprentice with warm washes through the Force and the simplistic stability of their embrace. He knew Obi-Wan was too old to respond with such mindless fervor to mere dreams. And in regular consciousness, the boy would chafe considerably if coddled the way he was afterward.

But he was clutching Qui-Gon to him, pressing his hot face against worn layers of tunic, as though to let go was to be plunged back into the nightmare. Rationality had been eclipsed by blind panic--uncharacteristic of a young man who had faced creatures of unequalled depravity and brute strength, without a waver to his heartbeat.

"Say something, Padawan," His lips were near to the perspiring temple, "This isn't like you."

And it wasn't really like Qui-Gon, either, to sit up on late nights with a frightened child tucked against him. This was all instinct. Pride and his unique brand of aloofness had to be set aside, for the time being. Their relationship was new, but the trials had been many, and already, the connection forged was unlike any other Qui-Gon had experienced. There might come a point, later in the life of the apprenticeship, that he would admit to cherishing that link.

But, he had to remind himself, the roots were still being planted. There was so much more to be discovered, beyond a sprout. And yet, his heart had exploded with fear that first night, when Obi-Wan's screams catapulted him from sleep.

No matter the length of their relationship, Obi-Wan was his weakness. To hurt the boy was to devastate the man.

Qui-Gon smoothed the auburn spikes. "It was a dream, Obi-Wan. It's over now." He felt Obi-Wan shudder, and wrapped his arms more snugly around the apprentice. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

Obi-Wan shook his head, eyes firmly shut.

Qui-Gon sighed and leaned back. "If you tell me, I can help you. This can't go on." He stared out at the deadened kitchen area beyond the common room, losing thought in the slow trudge of minutes.

"Master?"

The tentative little whisper took him by surprise, and he looked down at the mostly hidden face. "What is it?"

Obi-Wan lifted tearful eyes and the sight was a flawless depiction of misery. "Will you…Will you ever leave me?"

Qui-Gon framed the damp cheeks with his hands. "Of course not." He wiped pools of moisture from under Obi-Wan's eyes. "That would be rather silly of me, wouldn't it?"

Obi-Wan took a breath and his forehead crinkled. "W-Why?"

Careworn fingers teased the ends of a slim Padawan braid. "Because, I _want to be the one to get the credit, for raising the greatest Knight of the Order."_

Obi-Wan actually smiled. "I'll remember to thank you in my speech."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "Your speech?"

The boy nodded, nestling his head under the bearded chin. "Well, I assume one would receive a medal for such an esteemed honor."

"Oh," Qui-Gon laughed heartily, never forgetting that Obi-Wan's hands remained in a vice-like grip on his arms, "I'd imagine so."

It was quiet for a few minutes, as the demons dwindled into translucence, and Obi-Wan relaxed into the sane perimeters of reality.

He was close to sleep, but Qui-Gon knew now had to be the inquiry, or a possible solution to this mess would be lost for another score of hours. "Obi-Wan?"

"Yes, Master?"

"Can you tell me what you see? In the dreams?"

Obi-Wan's body stiffened, and he turned his face toward the haven of Qui-Gon's shoulder, so perhaps the memories would not be permitted to fill his eyes. "I…I feel…"

Qui-Gon could sense his struggle. "What do you feel, Padawan?" He urged gently.

The Universe seemed to slow, waiting for the child to finish, holding one huge, collective breath.

"Cold."

But it wasn't enough for the Master. It didn't explain the sharp wails and helpless fighting against an unseen enemy. There was more. There HAD to be more… "And what else?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, a thick, steel door slamming over his thoughts, blocking Qui-Gon from even the palest mental communication. "No." The apprentice whispered.

He was trembling in Qui-Gon's arms, and the man knew he didn't have the resolve to pursue it further, to tear away the shields and force difficult recollections from a tired child. "Alright." He tried to reposition himself, was nearly suffocated by the weary, frightened grasp of Obi-Wan around him.

Obi-Wan said he had been cold. So Qui-Gon had to be contented to wrap a cloak around the huddled form, and hope the warmth would be found for him once more.

Had it been real?

Was the corrupted creature before him once the child who sought solace and assurance in his arms?

But no. Surely Obi-Wan Kenobi had left long ago, taking with him a sliver of his former Master, so that the man could never recover enough to claim completion of his own soul.

Qui-Gon stared down at him, the features softened and unthreatening-a trick. A clever trick, but the man was familiar with them. He wouldn't be duped. Ever again.

)(

Puckered.

Queen Amidala didn't want to stare at the loose skin, stretched at the eyes, puckered at the cheeks. But her eyes remained staunch on Senator Palpatine's face, the chalky surface and yellowed pores. If she looked close enough, allowed all else to retreat beyond her periphery, that face seemed…more than eyes, a nose, a thin mouth. When she focused, or, eased her focus, the official of Naboo vibrated, buzzed, sifted in that skin.

But then the Master Jedi came through the doors, stirring the silent room into small action, and the entrancing pull ebbed, blinked quickly away.

Qui-Gon stood at the opening in their circle, between Palpatine and his apprentice, hands looped in his sleeves. He breathed out heavily before speaking-something the young sovereign noticed he had adopted as of late. "His strength gave out before he could tell me much of anything."

"What _did_ he tell you?" Padme asked.

"He told me he was led here."

"By who?" And Bruck's voice was more commanding, harboring vestiges of anger in its timber.

Qui-Gon shook his head. "He didn't say. But he knew Master Yoda was coming. I don't know how, after all this time, but he knows Yoda is close." Through his connection with the boy, Qui-Gon could hear Bruck's shock and sizzle. "Which means his gifts of the Force were not squandered after his…departure from the Jedi. He retains them. _And_, I would wager, he's improved them. Obi-Wan," It still felt strange on his lips, "Has never been stupid."

"Sure."

The Master pointedly ignored the utterance from Bruck. It was natural for Jedi, especially the younger, more tender members, to react with vehemence towards those that strayed from the path. It was a reminder, more than a betrayal. A reminder that staying Jedi was a constant, deliberate process. One could never settle into complacency or comfort.

If ever Qui-Gon Jinn was certain of his beliefs, it was in that. A nest warm under the shadow of your own convictions would turn cold. It was inevitable. He had gathered his young Padawan close in his embrace, to shelter him from the dark nightmare. But in the end, he had saved neither of them from anything. And would come to sit in that place again, alone.

He thought he was powerful enough, Jedi enough, to rescue the child from the midnight wings. And here he was, here was Obi-Wan, relentlessly tortured in sleep, even now.

__

But he wears the face of the nightmare.

Qui-Gon coughed, for no reason other than to drag himself from the thought, and saw that the Senator was regarding him with pale eyes.

"I think it best for you and Bruck to await Master Yoda's arrival on the main floor, your Highness." The Master said, shaking the disquiet off as flakes of famished skin, "Anakin could use the company."

"I could stay here. With you, Master." Bruck argued, his customary passion present, but devoid of irritation. He stepped closer, to speak in intimate conspiracy, "You shouldn't be here alone. You don't know…you just don't know what he could do."

Qui-Gon smiled, touched to the heart by his student's worry, and immensely grateful for it. "He's very limited in what he can do right now, my Padawan. And I've been a Master longer than he's been alive. There _is _a leverage there, no matter how slight it may be. I think I can hold my own."

Shadows crossed murkily in ice blue eyes. "But you didn't. He could've killed you."

"And yet, here I am." Qui-Gon touched an eternally pallid cheek, a pallor that seemed never to have turned toward the flush of the sun. "And here I will stay, Bruck. You don't have to be concerned with that."

Bruck fought the rebellion punching up in his lungs. "Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon gave a burst of mental encouragement before addressing the Queen. "I know you would like to be directly involved, Milady, but I have to say I would _not_ be comfortable with that. There's a reason Obi-Wan is here. And we cannot ignore that his arrival coincides with yours in the hangar. It could be your life he was planning on taking."

Padme didn't smile, but the lost expression appeared in her eyes all the same. "And yours, Master Jinn. If I may say so," She pursed her lips, "He never looked at _me_. But I must contact Captain Panaka, and can check on Anakin in the mean time. _If _I have an escort."

Bruck took the invitation without confusion, standing at her side. "I'll be back as soon as I can, Master."

But the Master felt himself recoil at that. "N-No. I don't want anyone coming in close contact with him, at least until Master Yoda arrives with the suppressors. They will lock him securely away from the Force, more so than the standards all Jedi carry."

"Do you really think it requires that extensive a measure of precaution?" Palpatine joined the conversation smoothly.

"In a word?" Qui-Gon answered him, after a stale kind of silence, "Absolutely."

On that ill-strung note, Bruck and the Queen advanced to the lift.

"With all due respect, Senator, I would prefer you to go with them."

A smile tweaked Palpatine's lip. "Of course, Master Jedi. _But_," He continued in a friendly voice, "I'd appreciate a moment of your time beforehand. I'll be right behind you, Milady."

Padme nodded; she and Bruck disappeared in the dark column.

Qui-Gon's eyes were on the space they vacated when the next words came.

"What will your Order do, Master Jinn?" Palpatine wondered softly. "Surely you can't turn him over to regular authorities. Or is there a custom Jedi guillotine unknown to the public?"

The chuckle sat like a dour weight, and Qui-Gon turned, the angular lines of his bone structure catching the lights. "I can't begin to think what will happen to him. But I can't imagine the Council will simply step back and relinquish their part in this. He won't be on Naboo much longer."

But, of course, the Senator already knew that. He saw more than the flat, immediate plane of the normal being. His vision stretched further.

Oh. He had already seen _so _much.

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	8. Chapter Eight

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Audreidi Thank you so much! I'm so flattered.

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Fudge It's interesting, that in the canon universe, Qui-Gon wanted to train Anakin for that same reason, to achieve greatness, but with less than a great result. Well, at first, anyway!

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Athena That flashback was brewing in my head for a long time, which was why it was put in so early in the story. Thank you.

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CYN Only _part _Sadist. I don't know how to feel right now…Hee. I do like posting here because it's easier to read that way, but it takes longer to get a chapter up, because my posts over there are much shorter. Well, not that these are long…Thanks for reading. I'm always so surprised and flattered to see a review from you. Thank you so much.

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Pug Thank you!

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Kynstar You're so amazing. Thanks.

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)(

When he closed his eyes, it was like whipping down the lanes in his podracer, twirling breathlessly on a clip.

Only, when he was at the controls, and darting across the sands, there wasn't a rebuking voice in his cockpit, softly chiding and distinctly feminine.

"Don't go too fast on that, little one."

Anakin sighed and opened his eyes, simultaneously kicking out his leg to stop the chair from spinning.

"My goodness." Padme Amidala remarked, walking towards the desk. "If I had just done that, I'd be re-tasting my breakfast about now."

Anakin laughed, as his admiring eyes drank in her presence. "Yeah, but I'm used to it." He shrugged. "Besides, it's fun!"

The Naboo monarch smiled. "I'm sure it is."

Anakin's gaze went to Bruck for a fleeting moment, then to Padme again. "And you know what?"

"What?"

His lips were quivering with glee at divulging his own secret. "Sometimes, if I just think really hard, I can make the chair go faster on its own."

Padme noticed Bruck's hands go to his hips.

"That's great, Ani." She replied.

Bruck sighed and looked back at the lift. "I don't know why I wasn't permitted to stay." He grumbled. "I doubt a sedated ex-_Padawan _that's been out of commission for ten years is going to be much of a threat to me."

Padme glanced at him. "Master Jinn seems to think so."

It was meant plainly as an observation, but it imbedded itself as an insult in Bruck's psyche. And he reacted as such. "Yeah, well, Master Jinn just wants to be in control of the situation. He wants to handle it without anyone's help."

"And keep everyone safe." She added with confidence.

"_Maybe _that's part of it." He conceded grudgingly, "But mostly, he thinks this whole situation belongs to him."

Padme watched his face. It was obvious to her that, in fact, the situation belonged to everyone. Bruck himself could claim considerable ownership. "Because Obi-Wan was his student once?"

Bruck nodded. "He never let it go. He could never just let it go."

Anakin was already impatient with the boorish direction of conversation, and with a small smile, smacked down two candy sticks on the desk counter. "Here you go."

Padme grinned, unwrapping the striped convection and popping it in her mouth. "Thank you, Ani." Her lips gleamed with a new purple sheen. "I think we could all use one of these right about now."

Bruck realized two sets of eyes were zeroed in on him, and with a heavy gust of a sigh, accepted the gift.

Still, it wasn't enough. The Queen _and _the boy were staring expectantly at him.

"Oh fine." He murmured, and took a massive bite from the colorful stick, eliciting a loud crack. "Happy?"

)(

"Not on Naboo much longer?" Palpatine crooked a bleached brow. "Do you mean he will be taken to the Jedi Temple?"

Qui-Gon's eyes strayed to the sealed room which contained his former apprentice. "That I cannot say. But Coruscant seems a possibility."

"Hmm." The Senator trailed a finger along his chin. He watched Qui-Gon carefully. "It must be terribly difficult for you."

Slowly, the Master turned, and waited in silence for the other to continue.

"To see the child you once knew, reemerge as a tool of evil. To attempt to take your life."

__

He already has.

It was a morose certainty ringing in Qui-Gon's thoughts. He was intensely shielded in the Force, but not against the subtle slither of the Dark.

Palpatine didn't indulge the smile twitching at him, maintaining the sympathetic arrangement of his features. It was a monumental weakness of the Jedi Order, as he often reminded those closest to him. How can one guard against something known to be extinct?

Very early in his life, his village was terrorized by the reprise of a felled species of arachnid. There was no stockpile of the cure nor the ancient venom. A quarter of the population was lost as result.

And now, here stood Qui-Gon Jinn, a mass of unsuspecting flesh, encircled by the stingers.

Not yet, though. Not yet. There needed to be a last refinement, a final touch of acid. It needed to take the entire village.

)(

__

Think, one would, that after eight hundred years of one's lifetime, there would be no worlds left unvisited.

Warm cores of washed olive watched the planet of Naboo expand, as the one-man ship hurdled downward, into the atmosphere.

In the near-eternity he had roamed the Universe, Master Yoda had only heard faint whisperings of Naboo, met a few representatives, but nothing as stirring as the transmission that came from Qui-Gon Jinn, mere hours before.

Well, perhaps he was exaggerating slightly. For one as weathered as he, a year passed more as a second, and a decade wore as a breath. So to receive _two _communications from the peaceful little planet, in the span of five years, wasn't so unusual.

Of course, only _he_ knew of the first.

He intended it to remain that way.

The withered Jedi leaned back in his seat, clawed hands resting on the chewed, mottled top of his gimer stick. There was no question he was in good health. To survive the double-fisted blow of yesterday, he _had_ to be in excellent physical condition.

And still, his heart had trembled, to hear the pained utterance of worst fears, manifested.

An adept of the Dark arts, facing off against the Jedi.

That in itself was astounding. The majority of the Council demanded it was impossible. Even if a member of the Order, trained well, were to be dismissed, their skills would blunt and dwindle in the absence of their peers and the Force-drenched environment of the Temple.

Yoda knew better. For a select few, the Force glistened _everywhere_, and it was as natural as a step, for them to detect the shine. After all, how did the Sith shatter into creation?

Despite that conviction, even he had to admit a child would not stand the same chance of success. Especially one with but a few months of apprenticeship, and hardly a wealth of experience.

But constant schooling was not required, for those eyes to grasp onto the Force, onto that gossamer blanket that could wrap around a spirit, and cradle it in cold times.

Or smother it in darkness.

His loose eyelids lowered, under the current of fresh outrage. Had he been naïve? It seemed a laughable inquiry, considering his age and the content of his career. But in the forever-sharpening perspective of tomorrow, he had never seen the silhouette of that boy, thought lost.

Now determined lost.

And he shouldered a cape of shadows, whipped over Yoda's prescience, blocking what might result from this awful event.

__

The Dark Side clouds everything. _Takes whatever it can reach. Takes…whatever it desires._

Yes, he had known the Dark lusted for the Light, to convert and mutate and corrupt the good, to strengthen the hand of Evil. He knew, too, that it came to the Jedi in forms of temptation. For Obi-Wan Kenobi, it spread as anger, and was always difficult for the boy to combat. But it didn't stop there. The Dark knew how to mutate _itself_, and was a tender voice of compassion, when the child sat alone in the aftermath of his severance with the Jedi.

And the Jedi--they had known he was alone. Qui-Gon Jinn knew. Yoda knew. They _all_ knew, but sat on their thrones, elevated above the gutters where betrayal and hasty error traveled, pristine and unbending.

Years later, both Masters were wading through the polluted waters. They were tasting the sour, soiled flavor of what they averted for so long. Where was Obi-Wan? Above them all, it would appear, for he exceeded the dirt-low expectations.

But, if anything, Yoda knew that Obi-Wan Kenobi never thirsted for the ultimate win, to tear down his opponent, for the sake of his own victory.

Once again, the Council (_and _Qui-Gon Jinn) would heatedly argue that.

It would be a heavy labor, this time around, to convince them otherwise.

)(

"You assume much, if I may, Senator." Qui-Gon crossed his arms, but looked entirely without defiance. "I knew Obi-Wan all of a few months. I didn't raise him." He shook his head. "Who _knows _who was responsible for that."

A little twinge irritated his thoughts, but he shook them off.

"That's quite a shame." Palpatine remarked, in a sorrowed drawl, "That the boy made such a small impression on you. It's obvious he possessed substantial…talent."

"Talent is nothing without focus." Qui-Gon countered, slightly enflamed by the offhand comments. "And his focus was wanting."

__

Wanting for guidance. Palpatine murmured, behind the walls of both Senator and Sidious. _Waiting for true fulfillment._

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	9. Chapter Nine

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Wintersong The Council will be, how you say, 'ticked'. And as for his friends? I've been thinking about that a lot too. Should be interesting. Thanks for reading!

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Snow-Glory Ah, what happened to Obi-Wan…beats me!

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Audreidi I love to see your name on a review alert. You're such a fantastic writer. That other message won't be addressed for a while, I'd say. Gotta keep you in suspense!

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Fudge Yoda and Obi-Wan's meeting will be strange, I think. To write, anyway. It will take some serious thinking. Thank you for reading and reviewing.

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Dracula's Lair Thanks!

__

The ship jetted through the vaporous atmosphere that encircled Melida/Daan, breaking into space. Space. The ultimate void, some called it, usually a captain with rheumy disillusion clouded over in battered eyes that seemed permanently reflective of star luster and exhaustion. The ultimate void, where one floated along in inky oblivion, waiting, hoping for a brighter thought to unveil as a pinprick of illumination. Far too often, the absence of distraction, the abundance of nothing, could eat away at an already famished soul.

In many ways, a Jedi was a captain, of ship and Fate, watching the endless shifting of darkness, en route to one disaster or the next. In the fabricated passing of night, Qui-Gon Jinn felt the burden of both lifetimes, warrior and aviator, weapon at his waist and controls grazing his fingertips.

It had been effortless at first, to elude the crush of outrage, while keying coordinates and securing the precious cargo of his voyage. His mind streamlined into its own version of autopilot, functioning forever in the sweet confines of the present. Wonderful NOW, with no memory to forgive, no need to consider the drama of the next moment. Each pulse of his veins was its own, private eternity.

And then the blur of his haste slowed. His limbs unwound from their tension, and he found himself slumped in the pilot's chair, surrounded by the black innards of the galaxy and the sweaty second skin of his body.

And Obi-Wan, everywhere Obi-Wan, like a mist. Words. They had only been words. Little words skittering down, while so nearby, a world and countless lives were in tumult. How could those words mean more, carry more impact, than burst war shells and ragged screams?

He realized he had been staring at the console with pupil-expanding blindness, and rubbed his eyes, leaning back on the meager support of the chair.

'I must help them.' _The trembling voice, so solidified in resolve, bled from the very walls, and sparked anew the fire in his gut. The words had not been malicious, nor spiteful, yet they were worse, the deceit of poison mixed deep in wine. He had not comprehended the consequence until the last was swallowed, and he could feel the horror seeping into his core. _'I must help them.' _And it was at the expense of all else, for he could not endure apology or reprieve. He wouldn't be carried here and there, on the winds of another's fancy._

And he wouldn't tolerate second chances.

Qui-Gon's eyes sunk into the welling dark. When one renounces the Order, the Order _must _renounce them. _He ran his fingers heavily across his brow, fighting the first cold strings of tension pulling taut in his temples. _What was I to do, throw up my hands and let him do what he wanted? Risk her, the priority and purpose of our mission?!

__

The breathless fury of his thoughts would have taken him aback, had he not already been totally absorbed in their passion. He was ever the pacific mediator, giving over his anger to the Force, the waters running smooth in his own soul.

But there were things no living being could confront with perfect steadiness. Some wrongs warranted blinding, molten ire. And for a moment, he would accept that, against the tenets stitched into his moral fiber. He would be beyond consolation or mediation.

He would be in the throws of his basic humanity, at the barest levels of affliction and the highest invincibility of self-righteousness. The boy had been wrong. He had been wrong_, and would not admit it, not to save himself from the destiny that lay in wait for so many in wartime, not to salvage his dreams. He was wrong and had the audacity to defend that convoluted logic!_

How could I not have known? How could I think he was different? _The pain scorched him, again and again, _Why did I go against every warning I had about him? What a grand fool I am! The signs all standing in daylight, and I chose to ignore them all. And for what reason? What Force-damned reason was there to forego good sense? _His vision was becoming smeared, _He was no more gifted than any of the others. No more special. No more…

__

And Qui-Gon was grateful Tahl was locked away in another wing of the ship, so she did not hear the weak gasps of his utter devastation.

The General Hospital of Theed stood in stone finery, towering to scrape against the sky with columns that seemed swirled of soft pastel cream. Yoda stole a second to admire the delicate, old-world feel, a traveler whose home was a bustling nexus of steel and mimicry. Naboo was exceptionally, distinctly beautiful.

But behind the façade, it was a world of much sorrow, for those recovering from the shattering Trade Federation conflict. And for the Jedi, it was the site of a new betrayal. As for whom was truly betrayed, the ancient sage couldn't be sure.

He lingered another moment on the cobblestone steps, the sun whispering hot at his neck. Inside, the Force coruscated and boiled, in purity and in dissolution. There was familiarity, in the form of Qui-Gon Jinn and Bruck Chun. Their signatures pulsed at the Master's nearness.

Yet, they weren't alone in their anticipation. There was the presence of at least two others, astounding in range and capability. Raw power. Refined power.

His eyes drifted closed and his shoulders drew back, his body easing in a calm, mind-contained sigh. _Wrong, I was, to believe. _Whoever was emanating the waves, their identities resembled nothing of Obi-Wan Kenobi. The verdant eyes opened to glimmering, moist slits. _But wrong, I would be, to assume there is nothing left of him._

It wasn't a shock.

He came awake, but the machines didn't explode into their customary hysterics, and no guards barreled in to form a lethal circle around him. He rose from unconsciousness in a single, steady lift, the fingers of sleep and narcotics falling away, down into the blur.

He didn't move. His aggravation over the entire situation returned, but his breath didn't spike and the rhythm behind his ribcage flowed in pacific cadence. For all the world, he was waking from a lazy, dreamless doze.

But, in his experience, most of the world-and Universe- was as perceptive as a blinded, bloated worm.

He wasn't afraid nor paralyzed by the arrival. If it had been at all possible, he would have unhooked himself from the tangled vines of tubes and bed cuffs, and strolled down to greet the microscopic cretin in person. He wasn't nearly as weak as the physician or Jinn believed.

He was more than prepared for another reunion.

__

This is most unwelcome. A grimace begged to ripple at the Senator of Naboo's lips. _The meddling creature will cause complications where I need none._

He knew Master Yoda had arrived, from both the subtle changes in the Force, and the not-so-subtle kindling of relief in Qui-Gon Jinn's eyes.

But he dare not gauge the reaction of the man that lay beyond the thick of the door and guards. It was too much of a risk--multiplied, now that the foolhardy stump of the Jedi Temple was involved.

"Senator, Master Yoda is here. I pray he'll offer new insight into all this." Qui-Gon wiped the ache in his eyes, and started for the lift. "He knew Obi-Wan far better than I ever did."

Palpatine paused for the slightest of moments, to savor this partial victory, to revel in the stress and sorrow carving out Jinn's figure. Partial, because they were only at the beginning, standing on the hearth of morning. The greatest celebration would be the last, when his feet kissed the pinnacle, at the fever-black prime of night, and his ultimate plans had come to completion.

A part of him chafed at the restraint of time, but he was quick to be reminded that he was at the helm, he should enjoy the ride. And every delay would work as another hour of torment, for those so deserving of the suffering.

Anakin and Padme had been engaged in a silly froth of conversation when suddenly, the boy's shoulders jerked, and he moved to rub his face.

Padme rested her hand on his knee. "Ani?"

She glanced around for Bruck, and found the young Jedi making long, impatient strides to the lift. Turning back to Anakin, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," He blinked, "I just felt funny for a second."

On instinct, she settled warm fingers against his jaw, as a strong protectiveness lurched up inside her. "Are you sure?"

He smiled softly and nodded. "Mmhm." Blue eyes flashed brightly when he saw Master Jinn returning. "He's back!"

The child hurdled from his chair and raced to his new guardian. "Master Qui-Gon! Are we leaving now?"

Qui-Gon chuckled, which surprised everyone (not excluding himself). "I'm afraid not, Ani. I trust you've been well-behaved?"

Anakin eagerly relayed his flawless conduct, as well as his repeated indulgences in the various candies littering the reception area.

A rough-hewn palm ran over his hair. "That's good to hear."

Anakin beamed, but there was an antsy bounce to his feet. "Why can't we leave yet? I thought I was gonna be a Jedi on Coruscant."

"And that will happen, Ani. All in good time." Qui-Gon reassured him. "There are just some things….that need to be taken care of first, that have nothing to do with you."

"Pardon the intrusion, Master Jinn, but I thought we were meeting with Master Yoda." Palpatine pointed out.

Qui-Gon blinked, embarrassed by the fact he continued to traipse through the shock and fog of the battle. He scanned the room and frowned. "He _must _be here. I sensed him clearly."

His eyes were drawn to the door. "I'll be right back."

****


	10. Chapter Ten

**Sith Lord Darth Revan **Thank you! I always worry about characterization with Obi-Wan, even though he's the character I write the most, hands down. You'd think I'd start getting used to it.

**Ccino** Sometimes, cliffhangers are inevitable. Heck, sometimes a month and a half long cliffhanger is inevitable, when you switch computers and lose files!

**Ewan's girl ** I'm sorry for the lack of updates. I'm going to get jumpstarted on this, once I'm back from vacation. It's harder now, with work. Thank you so much for reading.

**CYN **I've erased all that junk. Thanks for clearing it up for anyone that might've read/experienced that unpleasantness. And thank you for reading, especially with your busy schedule.

**Fudge **I guess Qui-Gon's a Master of _Delusion_? starts laughing uncontrollably, then blushes Okay, I'll stop now. Thanks for your review, as always.

**Audreidi ** I couldn't hope to be in the same class as some of the writers around here, but thanks. I think we'll be hearing a lot from Yoda in the coming chapters-and flashbacks.

**Dracula's Lair **Yeah, good ol' Palps...I love writing him.

**Athena **I think I sent you a PM about that. I'm scatterbrained sometimes. I've forgotten some of my best friends over at before when I was reviewing. But I apologize again, and grovel at your feet. I think Palps can handle Qui-Gon and Yoda-for now. Moohoohaha.

**O**  
  
The eldest and most revered member of the Jedi Order stood, obviously stricken to stillness, with eyes coated in glaze, on the steps leading to the entrance of the medical center.  
  
Qui-Gon stepped through the doors , and at once wanted to bask in the security, the very essence, of the Master. The wisps of snow swept over the ridged skull, the twitching of drooped ears, the tiny hands clasping the gimer stick. The only real constant of his generation lay in the small creature. Yoda was Yoda, despite the unfurling of all manner of darkness, resistant of change or degradation.  
  
His rapture was short-lived, however. Shadow densely rung those weary eyes, and the hesitation of the dwarfish body was intensely unsettling. What had halted the Master from taking the last few steps?  
  
The considerably taller Jedi knelt, so that they were roughly eye-level. "It's very good to see you, Master."   
  
Yoda stared off a little longer, then blinked with a strange suggestion of pain, and looked at Qui-Gon. "Good it is, to see you." He cleared his throat, but only succeeded in sharpening the rasp, "Feared for you, I did."  
  
Qui-Gon glanced down and swallowed. Already, they were to the abhorrent topic. It was all he saw, all he breathed, all that he could consume. The hunger had shrunk away in his stomach; the exhaustion was now burned into thoughtless custom. If he had hoped for an inch of reprieve, he had been selfish-and denied. "Thank you for coming so quickly. Do you...you have the--"  
  
Yoda raised his hand, to quiet the fumbling, and produced the object of Qui-Gon's inquiry. The collar was not of the variety that one found piled in the Temple, to be attached and unattached with ease. In this case, a clumsy, thick shackle wouldn't be sufficient.  
  
It was state-of-the-art, misleadingly slender and seamless, with a single vein of electric blue running through the center. The suppressor could have been mistaken as a mere cosmetic, a physical decoration akin to a necklace.  
  
But jewelry could be removed with a quick twitch of a clasp. Once secured, the collar rooted itself in the bodily systems, leaching the inherent power of midicholorians from the blood stream, and rendering the wearer completely Force-blind. It was a dangerous extreme, so much that it was cordoned to its own storing cube, in its own section of the Temple Undergrounds. The only safe method of extraction was surgical, to be performed by chosen few members of the Healing staff. There was no way of neutralizing the theft, even when attempted by the most gifted of Force adepts. Due to the severity of the instrument, use was incredibly rare, and little was known about the lasting effects of the deprivation.  
  
Of course, they couldn't march into the hospital and snap it around Obi-Wan Kenobi's neck...yet. They would need to wait. Otherwise, the combination of injury and Force-loss could prove fatal.  
  
Neither Yoda nor Qui-Gon needed research to ascertain that ugly truth.   
  
Qui-Gon ended his short inspection of the collar with a shudder quivering up his backbone. "I never hoped to see that so closely in my lifetime."  
  
A small, sadly ironic smile. "Neither did I."  
  
Qui-Gon felt a brief impulse to touch the accursed tool, "It holds unspeakable power."   
  
"No." Yoda corrected. "Merely take away unspeakable power, it can. Divider it is, between life, and the glow of life in the Force. A strangler of the spark."  
  
And Qui-Gon nodded his agreement, imagining the luminosity disintegrate among the ash in his former apprentice's eyes. If that's what it comes to, then he's surely earned it.  
  
Yoda rested his hand against a wrinkled temple. "A mighty burden, it will be."   
  
Qui-Gon watched the age-worn features intently, and prayed that, in this moment of exhaustion and resurrected heartache, he would be spared the usual cryptic undertones. "What will be, Master?"  
  
But it seemed the Universe was in an especially vindictive mood, and the High Councilor shook his head. "Mighty--and terrible."  
  
Then, he began to hobble inside, and there was a thunderclap in Qui-Gon's lungs. "Master!" He called.   
  
The slow shuffling stopped.  
  
Qui-Gon moved forward. "I feel I must warn you. He doesn't--He doesn't look the same. He doesn't look like the boy we knew."  
  
"Simple, that is, to explain, Master Qui-Gon." The currents of wisdom deepened in Yoda's countenance, "A man, he is. And the boy?  
  
"Perhaps the attempt was never made, to know him truly."  
  
The doors parted to admit the newcomer, and Qui-Gon paused, the same old ghosts, with their new words of haunt, crowding at his shoulders.   
  
**O**  
  
Anakin drummed his fingers together anxiously. A clashing rhythm was sounding in his heart, comprised of high, slapping-sharp notes and tremulous little beats.  
  
But no one could hear that conflict and for that he was grateful.  
  
He stood beside Padme and watched for Qui-Gon's return. He was beginning to recognize that in order to achieve any semblance of calm, he needed the Jedi Master. Not only in spirit, but in form, in nearness. Otherwise, he was lost beyond the salvation of immediacy, and the tracks of passing banthas couldn't distract him from the looming uncertainties.  
  
Anakin hated that feeling. He didn't want his skin to prickle or his eyes to water in regret. It would be the same as turning his back on the man who rescued him from a lifetime of hardship and bondage.  
  
How could he betray Qui-Gon with such thoughts?  
  
He wouldn't. He wanted to be a Jedi. The passion was there, to be the embodiment of a thousand Tatooine dreams, a symbol of honor and strength. But he wasn't a towering, noble figure like Master Jinn. He wasn't even as civilized as Padawan Chun. He'd lived every day of his life with a dirt-smudged face, though he always had his mother to wet her thumb and wipe some of it off.  
  
Jedi didn't have parents. Anakin did. Would that make things worse? Would that make him...weak?  
  
A blush burned inside him. Was that how he was supposed to think of his mom now? A weakness? He sighed.  
  
He had a feeling Jedi lived very complicated lives.

**O**   
  
Palpatine surveyed the boy quietly. Unrest. A watchword of his creed. A single splinter. The loose thread, that allowed everything to unravel much easier.  
  
**O**  
  
_The dust clouded in his eyes, and for a moment, he was veiled from the enormity of the scene. The departing ship was lost beneath swirling grit, and the cry spiking in his throat was stolen by dry, bitter hands. He swallowed and nearly choked.  
  
He stood in the billowing aftermath long after the dirt drifted down again. He didn't notice the film over his skin, or the bloody knick in his cheek from a tiny uprooted stone.  
  
In that slender interval of time, while he was at the nexus of the tempest, the pain was dulled, and he existed in the moment, not needing to remember what-or who-had brought him there.  
  
It wasn't until his eyes were clear that he realized.  
  
He wasn't a Jedi. He wasn't part of the whole.  
  
He was alone.  
  
And he was a hole, a gaping ache that lurched inside, and could never be filled.  
  
Obi-Wan's eyelids parted to allow warm rivers to pass. When he closed them once more, he could feel the damp cut of lashes, and rubbed hard to end the sensation.  
  
It was still night, thickly night, and his body lay heavy against the molding grass. He remained still, hoping that his mind could be dragged to the dense lower levels with the rest of him, and grant him a few hours more of sleep. A chill ground in his bones, of which he was becoming accustomed. His only protection from nature was his cloak. It saved him from shivers, but little else. His tunic was soiled with debris and sweat. The plaited coil that had once been as precious to him as his breath was ratted and slowly coming undone. He would need to cut it off—as soon as his heart reached that point in its galvanization.  
  
Until then, the braid was a snake brushing over his flesh, whispering of betrayal. So it was always a shock to wake covered in something like fever-sweat, clutching the symbol of his failed life.  
  
He was never able to settle back into the lull, after that.  
  
His eyes snapped open, to watch the scatter of throbbing stars, and he knew tonight would prove no different.  
  
It had been a month-he thought, though he couldn't be sure-and unconsciousness had taken leave, a friend that was sorely missed. In its absence, Obi-Wan huddled in his robe and was the victim of explicit torture.  
  
The dreams. But they weren't dreams, just fragments of fresh memory. They came to him in those rare instances of respite, and would stay with him as the sun rose...and fell.  
  
The words were scorched anew, deeper, into his mind. His former Master's words were the dismal anthem that played repeatedly. Obi-Wan could recite the entire tirade with flawless accuracy. Sometimes he would, his mouth moving in silent murmuring.  
  
The dreams roused him from relief, and forced him into coherency. When dawn was far away, he understood what he had done. The Padawan Learner in Obi-Wan was dead, and he gripped the blood-stained blade layered, too, by the vitality of Qui-Gon Jinn's veins.  
  
He had wronged himself and the man who was willing to give him reprieve from a farmer's life.  
  
And for what? An endless wander through a void worse than crop fields, hands sullied and heart unbound?  
  
Cerasi was dead, and there was new blood to drench the steel, for he hadn't been strong or quick enough to prevent it. She was gone, and he was gone away from them all, banished of his own accord to the outskirts. The Young were glad for it. They were tired of failure.  
  
So was he.  
  
He shouldn't have been surprised. There were others-teachers, Padawans, Bruck-who wouldn't be. He stumbled through life with a clumsiness that was incurable. He was without grace, and now, there was no Jedi Order to cushion him.  
  
Obi-Wan turned onto his side; stray images fluttered his thoughts.  
  
The day of his spar in the Temple arena. The stands had been cramped with attentive eyes. It was the first set of duels between the new Padawans, to be followed by regular and Senior apprentice matches. But more importantly, it had been the moment that would separate him from his old reputation. It would finally bury the Agricorps talk that still permeated his station as Master Jinn's student.  
  
He would be accepted, at last, among his peers.  
  
Everything had been going well. Strikes were blocked, advances were successful. Until Padawan Ki'ja initiated a forceful attack that left him a little off-balance.  
  
And he tripped. On her foot.  
  
No one had seen the fire ignited in his cheeks, because once his face hit the mat, he didn't lift it again. Not even in recoil, when the winning blow smarted the base of his neck. The focus was shifted to a fight in the next section, and he was left to all but crawl from the place in defeat. His only spot of luck was that his Master hadn't been there to witness the embarrassment.  
  
He ran through the corridors and raced up the stair.  
  
When he reached his room, he was panting and bathed in perspiration. He flung himself on the bed and pressed his blazing face into a pillow.  
  
It hadn't been ten minutes when he felt a hand rest on his shoulder, and first considered smothering himself with said pillow.  
  
"It isn't the end of the Universe, you know."  
  
His insides twisted and flexed. How could Qui-Gon have already found out?!  
  
"Now, if your pants had fallen down, the Universe would have crumbled, no doubt about it. Nothing on any planet, anywhere, would have been salvageable. That would've been it. So I, for one, am grateful you stumbled. It's a much smaller tragedy, in comparison."  
  
Obi-Wan could hear the humor sparkling in those eyes and was thoroughly annoyed. Worse, he was irritated at himself for being annoyed, which only compounded his mortification at what had happened.  
  
Suddenly, he was very tired, and wanted to sink somewhere in the middle of the mattress, rather than deal with any of it.  
  
As if Qui-Gon could hear every syllable of the inner dialogue, he sobered. "It really isn't as bad as you think it is, Obi-Wan. There isn't a Jedi in history who hasn't tripped over a foot or two."  
  
Obi-Wan groaned.  
  
Fingers traveled through his limp, wet hair. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, up until that moment, you did brilliantly."  
  
The statement managed to turn Obi-Wan's head, and he looked up at the bearded face with open shock. "What?" He swallowed, "You were there?"  
  
"I was late, so I didn't have the best seat. The Council meeting ended rather abruptly...when I left." The man smiled. "I had to find out for myself if all those hours of training had added up to anything."   
  
The spark fled Obi-Wan, and he dropped his gaze.  
  
Qui-Gon cupped his chin. "You were amazing, Obi-Wan. More than I imagined. You looked weightless."  
  
"And then I tripped."  
  
"Yes, you did."  
  
Obi-Wan winced.  
  
"But you're thirteen years old. I don't think you'll be expelled for it. It was a mistake, Obi-Wan. A small mistake made during a practice match. And what is a mistake, if not an opportunity to learn?"  
  
The boy sighed, staring at the ceiling. "People always call me clumsy. Bruck...always calls me clumsy. And now Oafy-Wan's at it again." He fought the welling moisture, but when he blinked, it began to roll down his cheeks.  
  
"Padawan," Qui-Gon reached for him, and wrapped him in tender arms, "You aren't perfect. No one expects you to be. No one wants you to be. Flaws are as much a part of you as your talents. They're what you're made of. It's what makes you Obi-Wan Kenobi, and no one else. I wouldn't want you to be anything else."  
  
Obi-Wan's breath hitched, and he wound his arms around his teacher's neck.  
  
He was accepted, in the only way that truly mattered.  
  
He watched the moon leech the color from the dead grass, and hated the memory. Hated how it taunted him, hated how it made him long for that companionship, hated how he had begun to believe his errors were nothing to be ashamed of.  
  
He was Obi-Wan Kenobi, with all the clumsiness and selfish blind spots.   
  
But it wasn't what he wanted to be. _  
  
**O**


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Ewan's girl **I know, Obi-Wan's been through a lot in this, but who knows? There might be some good luck for him in here somewhere...maybe.

**Sith Lord Darth Revan **His friends will be along, once the story moves into a new setting.

**Athena **I don't know what to say, really. You're so sweet and I hope I keep your interest throughout the rest of the fic. Thank you.

**O**

Sidious watched the approach of Qui-Gon Jinn and Yoda, eyes never straying from the mismatched pair. But he didn't need to shift his sight in order to determine the cause of the dread heavy on their features. The collar hovered over the awareness of all three, a weapon of monumental ability. The Force trembled, very slightly, in the atmosphere.

This would not bode well with his student. But the young man needed to expand his perspective. It was one of the few flaws still standing in his character, surviving the hours of fevered training and punishment. He couldn't grasp completely that every burst of pain was a chance to learn.

Yet, he was a worthy pupil. And ultimately, appreciated the hard-taught lessons. There had been so many.

But functioning while bereft of the Force, surrounded by those he was sworn to hate--destroy? It would be the most effective lesson of all. He smiled wryly to himself, amused by the irony. In seeking retribution from his former apprentice, Qui-Gon Jinn was providing him with the experience that would solidify his power to a magnitude beyond imagining.

But his glee was smoothed behind the mask of Palpatine, and he greeted the leader of the Jedi with a respectful bow. "As always, it is an honor, Master Yoda."

The small creature blinked up at him. "Prefer our meeting under different circumstances, I would."

He designed and displayed a solemn expression. "Yes, of course. The Naboo government and I, personally," He rested a hand over his heart, "Are dismayed by what has occurred. We have worked stridently to keep this event from spreading to the population. It would be damaging to the ancient reputation of the Jedi, and I won't have it."

Padme nodded in agreement. "The Jedi have been invaluable to our cause. There," She paused to compose, "There aren't words that could ever serve to describe my gratitude."

Qui-Gon briefly touched her elbow. "Thank you, your Highness."

Anakin was studying Yoda with open curiosity. He was an odd species, but by far not the strangest the boy had come across while on Tatooine. He was small, smaller than Anakin himself, and spoke in _very _peculiar style. And Master Qui-Gon had told him, quite confidently, that this was the greatest Jedi living.

The greatest of them all, and he had been against Anakin's training.

The very best-but Anakin was supposed to be the Chosen One, wasn't he? And wouldn't that mean—

A hand rested on his shoulder and the child was jolted from his wanderings. He craned his neck to look at Qui-Gon.

"Ani, you'll need to stay here again while we continue with this."

A pout threatened Anakin's lip. "For how long?"

Qui-Gon smiled kindly. "Not long. I promise."

The boy ground his feet in the floor. "When are we going to the Temple again? To be Jedi?"

The man bent beside him. "What was it that I told you about the future?"

"To live in the moment."

"That's right." Qui-Gon clapped his back, but the boy could tell there was very little real spirit in the action, "And in the moment, you need to stay here."

Anakin sighed. "Okay."

Though he was much older and far more educated in such things, Bruck was showing the flush of impatience as his Master devoted more time to the desert refugee. "Master, we should get going."

A gray mist traveled over Qui-Gon's eyes, and he squeezed Anakin's shoulders once before standing, and turning to address Padme. "Your Highness, it would be wise for you to remain with Anakin."

But there was a fierce welling of determination in the porcelain face. "I need to see him, Master Jinn. I need to see the man who tried to kill me."

Qui-Gon swallowed and shook his head. "Very well. But you must allow me to accompany you. I don't trust him, even under restraint."

The comment stirred something in Yoda's clouded green gaze, and his fingers tightened around the cane. "Go then, we shall."

**O**

He sat and watched shadow move across the wall, a darkness cast by the figure of Velis Marlwen, who stood, perusing a datapad, one finger poised on the slender rim of his spectacles.

When the man stepped outside the door, the swarm of black remained a stain on the surface. But he knew well, some shadows never retreated, not even when years came to separate them from the present. Shadows could seep into your eyes.

The physician returned, smiling grimly. "Deep in thought?

The other man seemed to still to breathlessness before answering. "Reminiscing." Each syllable curved in the cold, cultured inflection.

"About what, I wonder?"

"The last time I killed a doctor."

Marlwen stopped. He didn't catch a line of humor in that face. In fact, there was a complete absence of emotion. And he had the sudden, terrified thought that Kenobi could truly be _that _detached, to kill without conscience.

But then Kenobi smirked, a jagged amusement lighting in his eyes. "Don't worry. Although it's good form to warn before an attack, I prefer more..._suitable _competition."

Marlwen snorted. "In your condition, bets would probably side with me."

A crisp peal of laughter. "And the credits would end in my hands."

"Believe what you will." Marlwen murmured, scanning the datapad once more. "But I admit, you do seem to be recovering quickly."

"The mind can fuel restoration better than any medicine devised. I thought, perhaps, you would know that, _Doctor._"

Marlwen's lips twisted in a sour smile. "That's your secret, eh? Brainpower?" He looked at the pale face and felt a sharp reminder slice through, that this man had attempted to murder the young sovereign of his planet. With renewed enmity, "Anxious to be transferred from a hospital room to a prison cell? I'd be offended if I wasn't just as elated to be rid of you."

His opponent in the little joust merely laughed. "You'll hear of a heat wave on Hoth before I'm imprisoned."

"An escape artist, are you?" Marlwen crooked a brow.

"You forget. It isn't _what _you know, good doctor. It's _who_."

"And who exactly do y-"But then Marlwen paused, frowning at the monitors. A soft beep had sounded in the background, alerting him of changes in Kenobi's vital statistics. He studied the screens, then turned a quizzical eye to his patient. "Fired up by our dialogue?"

"Not particularly."

"Hm." Marlwen shook his head, "Well, your heart would argue otherwise. It's beating about a million light years a minute."

And the man that had been Obi-Wan Kenobi, in a long-faded reality, went a bit cold.

He could sense his mentor, but would not be so bold as to send a message. No, he wasn't naïve. He knew the Jedi Masters wielded an incredible power. The Dark was a beautiful shroud exceedingly difficult to penetrate, but it wasn't impossible for exchanges within its warm caverns to be intercepted. Intrusion was a specialty of the Order, after all.

There was a blunt clatter of footsteps near, and he took a breath, to rid himself of his body's unwanted reactions.

He would do as his teacher would wish.

He would guard his Master's plans until the last crimson drop of his blood was purged.

**O**

Qui-Gon looked down at his hands; refused to acknowledge the slight quivering. He wondered if it would ever become easier. If the blade would slip free of his flesh.

Yoda stood at the door to the infamous room, and the younger Master had the illogical urge to move beside him, to protect him from the monster waiting on the other side. "I should go with you, Master."

He noted with a hot inner flush that, if he were to adjust the tone of his voice, it would have sounded remarkably similar to his own apprentice's worried suggestion.

"The other side, I do not fear." Yoda croaked quietly, on the weak fringes of a whisper. "Bring its own kind of shadow, every light does. That is why balance, we all must have. So that the shadow does not flood the light."

Qui-Gon lowered beside the ancient one and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Master, there _is no _light left in him."

"Determine that, I must, for myself."

He disappeared through the uniformed gate of security officials.

Qui-Gon remained close to the ground, head bowed.

O


	12. Chapter Twelve

Kynstar You have no reason to feel bad! You review at both places, crazy girl! I'm fortunate to have you as a reviewer in the first place! 

**Sith Lord Darth Revan **_Maybe Obi-Wan can ring Bruck's neck! _Well, there's always the possibility...

**Draculas Lair **I know, I wish I could update more often with more material. I hope you like what I have, though.

**Ewan's girl **I swear, I'll try to get these posts longer.

**LoriC **I'm torturing my readers? Moohoohaha! That just encourages me to do it more!

**Athena **The doctor's kind of a weird character. I'm not sure what he's about yet. And thanks for reviewing, especially with computer problems.

O 

_The field was thick with lush grasses and the air was sweet with sea spray, carried over from the distant, calm waters of the ocean. The children rushed around in a giggling sort of play that all at once seemed mindless and the very essence of everything. Their caretakers were equally jubilant, rushing after them and lifting them onto their shoulders. The crechelings shrieked in delight, barefoot and unkempt._

_One such child walked up to the observer, who had been watching in a silent pocket of the wild field. His hair was mussed, and grass sprinkled the shining brown strands. The boy smiled, carving dimples into hopelessly chubby cheeks. "You're little," He pointed to his companion, "Like me."_

_Yoda laughed softly. "Indeed, young Obi-Wan."_

"_Young," Obi-Wan repeated, "Are you young, too? Like me?"_

"_What think you?" _

_The smile widened and shimmered in the blue gaze. "Yeah. I think so."_

That was the Obi-Wan Kenobi that resided in his heart, and the Obi-Wan Kenobi he would not forget, no matter the changes. It had been five years since he last knew of the former Jedi's state, but his love for that child was eternal.

Yoda moved into the room, and was instantly unaware of anything outside the figure in the bed. Changes, yes, there had been many, but it _was _Obi-Wan. You could build and rebuild on a patch of land, but the soil beneath would bear the same weed and bloom. Even when others sought to rip out the roots.

He studied the familiar eyes, encircled by sullen smears of shadow, and spoke, "No longer little are you," His breath fell heavy, "No longer young."

"Typical of the Jedi. Expecting an apology for the inevitable." Obi-Wan's smile was brittle ice. "And I wouldn't be accusing so freely when it comes to age. I'm surprised you're still alive."

Yoda thought of that child and the wound dug deeper. "Surprised, you are? Eight hundred years, I have lived, Obi-Wan. How much more, then, is five?"

The jags of the heart readouts heightened, and Marlwen was on the brink of cautioning them both when the reply sliced like a cold, clean razor's edge in the tight air, "_Obi-Wan is gone."_

"But see him, I do." Yoda hobbled forward, "Sitting before me, he is, clutching a mask. No longer young, but caught in a game."

"The mask is of Obi-Wan. And you've put it there yourself. I've no use for it anymore."

If it was true, the masquerade had become a tainted one, for the skin was deathly devoid of color and the gleam of the hair was shivery obsidian luster. "Died, the child has not." Yoda murmured, levitating to meet the other's level, "But lost, he surely is. In the trappings of a murderer. Such capability, I would never believe of you."

"Then diluted, you are."

The blatant mockery went without remark from Yoda, who had yet to move his eyes away from the face in front of him, "Left your Master, you did, to help children. And now, kill a child, you would? A Queen, she is. But a young girl, also. A child of innocence. As you once were." He watched the lack of expression and pushed on, "Remember, can you?"

"His memories are not mine."

"And yours? To you, what memories belong?"

"I remember killing what was weak. And I don't remember regret."

"Then made to forget, you were." Yoda confirmed without question. "By who?"

"Eliminating the useless is nothing for which I would need to repent. He's dead and I'm glad for it. I never would have lived, as long as he was living in my place."

"Faded, his scars have." Yoda noted, extending a clawed hand to the pallid cheek, where the three deep scratches had once been streaked along the bone, visible even through the grainy distortions of the viewscreen. He then moved his touch to the bandaged shoulder. "Replaced by yours, hm?"

"Pain must be remembered or it has nothing to teach."

"Teach you what lessons, then, did pain?"

And Marlwen was obliged, as Kenobi's physician, to finally interfere. "I'm sorry, Master Jedi, but this is becoming detrimental to his health. I can't have his heart out of control while he's recovering."

"Very well," Yoda acknowledged with a second-long glance at the doctor, then looked again at the silent, seething visage, "Recover to wellness, Obi-Wan. Wait, I will."

O 

The tiny Master emerged from the room and was surprised that he wasn't bombarded by concerned inquiries from Qui-Gon. The urgency had relented somewhat in the man, for which Yoda was relieved. Guilt could collapse the strongest foundations, and the Order couldn't afford such a falter. Not now.

It was a sobered Jinn that approached him, arms folded across his chest. "Did he tell you anything?"

"Sought protection, he did, in words. To hide."

"Still a coward," Bruck uttered.

A frown wore in the soft green skin. "But weaponless, he was not. For he is a weapon himself. Of Darkness."

Padme spoke next, in a tone so calm and civil it edged on eerie, "And who pulls the trigger?"

O 

For all the light stroked across the creamy pastel scenery, night on Naboo was still night, and bloomed in velvet black.

He thought that, perhaps, the group beyond the room would dissemble, and wait for the return of the sun before the next inquisition. But after a few hours of monitoring, Velis Marlwen determined that he was in suitable condition for another visitor. Or, should he say, _visitors. _

They were not who he was expecting.

The Queen of Naboo stood at the door, the Senator accompanying her in the capacity of protector. Her eyes, dark as though reflecting the newborn night, studied him carefully.

But Palpatine broke the silence, "Her Royal Highness wishes to meet her attempted killer."

Obi-Wan watched, and caught the smallest flinch pull her features at the blunt wording. "I am in no place to refuse her Royal Highness." He answered.

A swallow momentarily quivered down the column of her throat, and then she stepped forward, stopping a short distance from his bed. He felt akin to a creature shackled and put on display, such was the pale vein of curiosity in her gaze. "Why?" She asked softly, after a time.

His eyes were on her, but his focus drifted to Palpatine. "That I cannot tell."

"Master Jinn informed me you were a Jedi once."

"Another lifetime."

Amidala's delicate face hardened. "You've lived many, I take it. And you wanted to take mine, the only I could claim."

A bleached hand rested on her shoulder. "You don't have to subject yourself to this, Your Highness."

She glanced at Palpatine, then the other man. "It is my duty-my right-to know. _Why _did you do this?"

"My motives are beyond your comprehension."

"I'd eventually figure them out." She countered, with a tinge of humorless sarcasm.

"A great overestimation of your talents."

"Or yours."

Obi-Wan smiled. "I'm beginning to see why the Naboo people chose you, Your Highness, despite your age and naiveté."

She ignored the jab. "It is obvious you're unwilling to provide me with any purpose for your attack. But it's early. Perhaps it will be easier for you to reveal your secrets once your freedom is at stake." The Queen began towards the door, then added, "I'm a very patient person."

She left, and despite her claims of patience, did not wait for Palpatine to follow.

O 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Shanobi **Thanks for reading!

**Dracula's Lair **Thank you.

**Sith Lord Darth Revan **Yoda knows more than everyone else (as usual) so he might be kinder to Obi-Wan as the story progresses.

**Athena **I actually can't wait to get to the explanation that will come with the tons of backstory I have brewing in my little brain. It will just take time. Besides, as I've said, I loooove torturing my readers.

O 

Doctor Marlwen gave a short nod towards his regular patient. "It's a pleasure to see you, sir."

"Yes, a pleasure to see you as well, especially since our reunion is not centered around any health issues of my own." Palpatine chuckled. "But I wonder if I might ask a favor of you, old friend."

"Such as?"

"I would like to speak to Kenobi. In private."

Marlwen was visibly stunned by the request. "Do I need to remind you that the Jedi consider him a danger?"

"The Jedi are being cautious. Their part in this-though unintentional-is undeniable. Kenobi was one of their own, and now, he is a criminal." The Senator smiled, and it struck the doctor as incredibly misplaced, "Albeit an incompetent one. Besides, the guards will insure I don't come to harm." He glanced at Kenobi. "Not that I'm particularly worried."

Marlwen felt concern thrum up in him. The Queen had understandable cause to see her would-be murderer, but why would Senator Palpatine seek audience with Kenobi—a private audience, at that? He studied the face that had grown familiar over the years and exams, a face that was beginning to loosen in the pull of years. And then he looked at the contrast that was Kenobi's younger, sharper countenance.

Concern for whom? 

Still, he couldn't name any distinct threats they posed one another. Palpatine was a respected, educated man—and Kenobi was, well, restrained with a hole through his shoulder.

And yet… "Senator, I would advise against it."

In a cool, unaffected voice, "Doctor Marlwen, this man has committed atrocious wrongs to our people and more specifically, our beloved Queen. As a representative of Naboo, I would like him to understand just how serious the consequences may be." Contempt threaded silver through his placid eyes. "It will take but a moment. I assure you."

Marlwen was aware of his own hesitations and unable to explain them to himself, let alone the Senator.He sighed. "Alright. But he's still under my care as a physician, and if I believe you are a strain to his health in any way—"

Palpatine held up a hand. "I'm not planning on killing him, Doctor. On the contrary, he deserves to experience the full unpleasantness of his future sentence. I would never save him from that."

Marlwen compressed his lips and turned his eyes to Kenobi, attempting to gauge the man's reaction. But smoothly expressionless, the patient appeared indifferent to the entire debate. _No shock there. _"I'll be outside the door. This device," He indicated a small communicator clipped to his waist, "Is hooked to his monitors and will inform me at once if his condition deteriorates."

"An intelligent instrument," The Senator remarked.

The physician nodded, "I'll be outside the door," He repeated.

Palpatine's back was turned from the man. He waited for the hiss of the door sealing before he spoke again. "I suggest you keep your wits about you. We wouldn't want a siren to send him charging back in here, would we?"

"He's exaggerating, my Master."

The refined voice seemed to caress the last word, and as always, the Dark Lord felt a rustle of contentment in his mind. He stood at the foot of the bed, glad that the flooding shade of his cowl was absent. His apprentice needed to absorb the frustration, disappointment…the anger unveiled in Sidious' eyes. The boy had made a fuddling error better suiting a runny-nosed initiate. "At this point, I cannot be sure. You are my pupil—and the superior of Jinn and that inept Padawan of his. I had assumed it would be a contest quickly and easily won by the Sith. You wield the power of the Dark," He folded his hands behind his back and walked closer, "But are crippled, just the same."

"The Dark has made me strong. You have made me what I am." The apprentice whispered in reverence of the teacher.

But Sidious slowly shook his head. "_I _did not make you _weak. _You cling to the past, and so cling to weakness and failure. I have no tolerance for such things."

The apprentice's face tightened. His Master had lost faith in his abilities and his character. It was a colossal, bitter crush to his very being. Suddenly, he couldn't choke out any sort of defense. "I apologize, Master. There is no excuse for what I've done."

"Indeed. But every error has an origin, my apprentice. As you well know. And you will tell me the origin of yours."

Naboo's moon had eavesdropped, slipping in to settle on the bruised curvatures of the apprentice's sweat-beaded visage. He was pale as the white sands of the Jumith isles; his eyes were turbulent as the rushing gray undercurrent. And his voice was stolen from the winds of that place, the cold, dismal breath of nightfall. "I lack the grace of my Master. I was clumsy."

"Again, you speak of the error, when I desire to hear the source."

"The source goes no further than my own flaws."

A hard line stood out on the Sith Master's forehead. "Those flaws are of another age. And they have long been eradicated. No, this weakness belongs to Obi-Wan Kenobi."

A shaft of absolute devastation threatened to consume him and he closed his eyes, thinking of the lifeblood soaking into the sand. "There is no Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Fingers fell to brush against his hair. "And yet I sense his ghost here."

"NO. There is nothing left of him."

"Then give me reason to believe it, my apprentice."

He opened his eyes and they felt swollen, as though awaking from fever dreams, "I will do anything you ask of me, Master."

Sidious' smile was curdled across his mouth. "And the reward will be the Temple, the Jedi, toppled at our feet. We cannot afford mistakes and squandered opportunities," He drew his fingers languidly down the soft cheek, "Not when the shift approaches so soon."

The apprentice looked up at the Sith, locked in the trappings of Palpatine while the Dark drifted and flexed around him. The fingers were pure ice—and his only warmth. "I won't fail again."

"See to it that you don't. Plans have changed. Jinn, Yoda and the entire Order will encase you within the Halls. You will be among them.."

"But I will be with you, my teacher. Your wisdom will be with me. Your power."

"_Yes_." Sidious drawled. "And perhaps then, you will know that I am the only teacher. It was my hand that pulled you free of the abyss."

"Yes, Master." The lips were very nearly quivering. "Thank you, Master."

"_I _am your only Master." And abruptly, his nails raked across the cheek, welling up strips of crimson as he went, "That you _must _remember, above all else."

A moment later, the wounds had faded. A bird shrieked beyond the window, but the apprentice was deaf to the ragged call.

**O**

Qui-Gon and Yoda had slowly separated from the group, drifting to the nearby window overlooking a three-tiered fountain of twilit waters. Heavy, verdant eyes studied the trickle while eyes of bright midnight sought the attention of the other's.

"What has the Council decided?" Qui-Gon asked quietly, but rather insistently.

Strings of wild ivy spilled from the head of the fountain, and the old Master drank it in with gratefulness. In spite of injustice, malice and missed chances, there was still beauty, bounding from every direction, if one only paused long enough to notice. But the gaze of Qui-Gon Jinn was smothered in the violent tableau of Obi-Wan Kenobi's massive failure.

Something the maverick Master had in common with his former apprentice, Yoda reflected. It was all either of them could see.

"What have they decided?" Qui-Gon pushed, a desperate edge to his voice.

A sigh swept out from him and he turned from the pale serenity of the window, to the harsh sorrow of the well-loved face. "To Coruscant, young Obi-Wan will go."

"The Temple?"

Yoda nodded, eyes falling shut. "To the underground cells. The Force will be gone from him there. No Dark power, will he wield," Before Qui-Gon could speak, he answered the next question at the man's lips, "An investigation, there will be, to determine the next course of action."

And there was no more he could tell. For now, Obi-Wan's future was a dank, gray square and the grayer void that came from severance with the Force. Yoda realized he didn't want to know more.

Qui-Gon was staring at a crack in the pristine floor while he wondered, "Will we need the collar?"

A shiver froze Yoda's veins, "Pray, I do, that we will not."

Then Doctor Marlwen was approaching them, a finger straying to pinch the corner of his glasses. He didn't bother with formalities. He knew what they needed to know. "Apart from the increased heartbeat during your earlier meeting, he's improving at a rapid speed. I do feel he needs another day of in-hospital recuperation, but after that, it'll be safe to release him."

"Thank you." Yoda replied. "Into the custody of the Jedi, he will go."

"Then I'm sure he won't be among friends," Marlwen glanced at the door from which Palpatine had just re-entered the room, "Although, it seems the Senator is more angered than anyone."

Qui-Gon would have argued heartily with that observation, but found himself to be incredibly wearing and lacking the will. His thoughts were drifting more and more towards the lush bed of his quarters, and the promise of relief in black sleep. It would be lovely to forget, for a short while, the living nightmare of this mission.

O 

Unconsciousness was overtaking the majority of the hospital. He could sense it, the warm, leaden weight of their limbs giving way to rest, eyes closing and hearts slowing.

It would have been a perfect opportunity to escape the wretched prison, if not for the flesh-and-bone blockade stationed outside his room. And he couldn't be sure how many more precautions had been taken to prevent him from his liberation. For all he knew, the gentle Naboo folk had banded together and constructed a moat around the entire building, throwing in a couple of hungry draigons to insure their safety.

He leaned into the pillow. His shoulder briefly sounded its discomfort, but the pain wasn't visible on his face.

No, he couldn't attempt flight now. He would, instead, trust in his Master's bottomless wisdom.

'…_this weakness belongs to Obi-Wan Kenobi.' _Something boiled inside him at the resurrected words. _He was wrong. Kenobi IS dead. And I WILL prove it to you, my teacher. I will return the pride to your eyes. You will be proud of me again._

The lights had been dimmed to a smoky dusk, and though he quite enjoyed the dark ambience, it was disparaging to his focus. The drug-induced sleep of the night before had been his first real rest in months, and was not something he looked forward to repeating. Sleep was a flaw shared by every species imaginable, but it would not be his. Shallow meditation provided satisfactory rejuvenation while permitting him to stay in a state of sharp awareness. He had never been fond of sleep or its unpleasant side-effects; it was easy for him to constantly forego it.

The hours between midnight and sunrise belonged to him, as they always had. He was a Child of Darkness, his Master had declared years before, and a truer thing had never been spoken.

Master Yoda and Jinn would agree, he thought with a faint smirk. He remembered the horror and revulsion that twisted their faces, and a sweet sense of pleasure stirred richly inside him. He would go to the Temple—and they would regret the forced invitation.

O 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

_Sorry this is soooo late in coming, but I had internet problems. And just writer's block problems in general. Thanks to anyone who stuck around._

**SharpShooter626** Oh, you'll find out what happens to Dark Obi-Wan. It'll just take awhile. Thank you for reading!

**Cassandra** Thanks!

**Athena **Yes, sleep is good. Maybe if it wasn't so good, I'd write more.

**Kynstar **Ooh, yes, Palpy is most definitely evil..

**SithLordDarthRevan **Thank you!

**Ewan's girl **Obi-Wan has some plans for the Temple. Now, if only I could figure out what those plans were…

**O**

Bruck sat at the edge of the extravagantly large and expensively draped bed, surrounded by soft sleep clothes, and fingered the most recent addition to his Padawan braid. The colored beads stood out as bright markers against the snow-paleness of his hair, vibrant reminders of the various lessons and hardships during his apprenticeship to Qui-Gon Jinn.

That was what life was, he reckoned. Long strips of time, ordinary and without hue, occasionally interrupted by a burst of the extraordinary. Or, at the very least, the unordinary.

It was those moments that separated the strong from the weak, the worthy from the worthless.

Naboo was a test of truth. Beneath the cerulean skies and curls of pearly cloud, darkness was uncoiling, reaching to enclose them all. But for each, it was a different shadow that threatened to fall.

Bruck was aware of the shroud at his shoulders that whispered of bygone, but never forgotten, years. The resurgence of those memories had the potential to undo him. The knowledge was branded in his brain, that he had been second choice. Second best? No, he _knew_ that wasn't so. At the Temple, dreaded cut-off dates looming, brash anger was a beast feeding from his insecurity, and oh how it had grown from one day to the next. Obi-Wan _had _been good, so good that he had the trembling, desperate compulsion to fight that goodness, to conquer and obliterate what could stand in the way of his own future. The nickname that haunted the other boy as he walked the halls was another tool Bruck employed, a sturdy step for him to ascend to the platform where all Jedi stood.

But his tricks and his rage had turned inward. He became sour and hateful to his core, while Obi-Wan gained the much sought-after status of Padawan Learner to the great Master Jinn. That had been the final severance from any sense of Jedi placidity. He gave in to his fury, lent his hand to the cause of Darkness…until the day he learned of Oafy's betrayal.

His reprieve.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was gone from the Order, and Bruck took his place. For over a decade, there was barely a word uttered of the person who previously stood at Qui-Gon's side.

Now, it felt as though every spoken syllable was dedicated to the relic of his pre-Padawan life. His Master was absorbed in the past. And it wasn't the first time.

Bruck had thought those curtains closed, for both of them. But Obi-Wan had catapulted them through, into the pall.

He rubbed the warm, yellow-washed bead between his fingers, and felt a paralyzing tingle rush like splintered ice from his toes to his head. Abruptly, he stood, braid whipping behind him, and entered his Master's adjoining quarters.

Qui-Gon was sitting on the side of the bed, head sunk into his hands.

The sight pierced Bruck's heart, and he swallowed a boulder before he spoke. "Are you alright, Master?"

The man straightened, wiping his hands on his leggings, and smiled. "Fine, Padawan. Just a bit tired after today."

An uneasy silence followed.

"Are you anxious to return to Coruscant?" The apprentice wondered abruptly, for no other reason than to hold the attention of his instructor.

The frail light lent luminescence to the sphere of Qui-Gon's gaze, but had also washed away much of the color. The Force burned in him even now, in this darkest of hours, though he had not been completely spared from the turmoil. He was grace with rough edges. "I'm anxious to leave here." He answered when he had gathered enough energy to do so, "And I miss home. Perhaps it's all that's happened, but I feel a bit like a fish caught in the sand, the Temple a far-off ocean."

"We've all lost our center here." Bruck pointed out.

Qui-Gon nodded his agreement absently. "I just…" He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, "I don't understand."

Bruck rested his hand on a broad shoulder. He wasn't at all accustomed to the position of comforter. His Master was a venerable, incredibly strong man, and usually reserved in matters of the heart. At first, he fumbled for consoling words. What was there to say? "He's always had the potential for darkness, Master. Why do you think no one wanted to train him?" Immediately, he regretted the observation, for in the end, someone _had _wanted to train Obi-Wan Kenobi as a Jedi. "Sometimes even the best of instructors can't steer a student down the right path." The young Padawan glanced away. "Besides, it's not like he didn't know what he was doing back then. He made his own decisions and he knew the impact they could have. He did what he wanted anyway."

"I _did _sense darkness." Qui-Gon murmured, staring at the dead space in front of him, "But it wasn't evil. It was the darkness of anger and insecurity. I thought he would be able to overcome it."

"Anger and insecurity can ripen into evil." Bruck said with a private tingle of knowing.

Qui-Gon gusted a breath and tried unsuccessfully to massage the crick out of his neck. "When he saw me, when he first woke in the hospital, he said I looked small."

The fury was swelled and teeming within Bruck at the ridiculous statement, but he was able to release most of it into the atmosphere, and his voice was even. "Something or someone's probably caused him to think he' s much more than he really is. Or he's just as unsure as he ever was and is trying to conceal that."

"He wasn't unsure of himself in the Palace."

Bruck couldn't counter that, and crossed his arms, looking at the floor with a frown.

"And neither were you, Padawan."

When he looked up, his Master was smiling, and despite the grim situation, Bruck couldn't help but smile himself. "Thank you, Master."

"Thank _you_, Padawan. You saved my life. I think he would have killed me." Qui-Gon compressed his lips as this last acknowledgement was purged from him.

Again, Bruck gripped his shoulder. "No, Master. It would have been the other way around.

"_He _is small and worthless."

Qui-Gon looked up at him. "Tread carefully, my Padawan. You walk the line of anger, and you mustn't. For, as you know, that line intersects with another. I would not want you to suffer those consequences. It does…such terrible things to the mind and the heart. You must always preserve your goodness. Especially in these circumstances, when Dark is all around us. You must be strong. You must not hate."

Bruck took a step backward, frowning. "But he tried to…Master, how can I ignore what he's done? What he _is_?"

"You don't have to ignore it. But, for your sake, you cannot hate him, Padawan."

Bruck inhaled sharply. "But _you _can?"

Qui-Gon's features were strained, his voice equally taut. "I don't hate Obi-Wan."

"You could've fooled me."

"Enough," The Master huffed, "I don't want to hear anymore of this. Not tonight. You need your sleep and so do I." He stood and began to pull down the thick duvet, "I'll see you in the morning."

Bruck stared at him a moment longer, then shook his head and stalked into his quarters.

**O**

Due to Obi-Wan's condition, Doctor Marlwen warned that his last day of in-hospital recuperation would need to be calm and uneventful. So of course, the Jedi were banned from the room, and a pale semblance of peace took rule.

Velis had grown irritated that the would-be killer of the Queen was absorbing so much attention from not only the hospital, but from he himself. There were other patients to attend to, patients in more dire circumstance.

But Kenobi was on his rounds, and there was no mistaking his duty. Until tomorrow morning, he had to ensure the man's health. After that…it was in Jedi hands.

_Perhaps my work will come to nothing, _He pondered as he entered the heavily guarded room, _And the Jedi will serve their own justice. _

The walls were soft with the echoing spill of dawn's incandescence. The glow fit gently on Kenobi's features. It was in these rare moments that this ancient enemy of the Jedi looked more like a man still on the final, frail fringes of childhood.

An advantage that Kenobi probably abused on those with tender hearts, who could be misled be a pair of young eyes and a charming smile.

But there was another face. The true face. Marlwen had seen it often enough to know. Perhaps Obi-Wan Kenobi could masquerade for a short while, but eventually the guise would slip. A snake could only coil beneath a stone for so long before its hunger-its nature-drove it into the blinding daylight again.

"I was hoping the morning would not find you conscious," Marlwen commented, crossing his arms, "With such a trying journey ahead of you, you need the sleep."

Obi-Wan smiled. "Then what would I do on the journey?"

The doctor chuckled. "Oh, but I would think you'd be a little too on-edge for sleep then."

"And why would that be?"

Marlwen could almost admire the cool sheen of rebellion over that gaze. "I'm not sure. But I, for one, would be concerned. The Jedi aren't pleased with you."

"The Jedi are scarcely pleased with anything, save themselves." A black eyebrow rose slightly, with open amusement. "You think they'll massacre me between here and Coruscant?"

Velis shrugged. "I've never thought much of anything when it comes to Jedi. But I've met a few since your arrival here." He looked at Kenobi with his own version of dark mirth, "And if you plan on doing much sleeping, I'd do it with one eye open."

"I'll keep that in mind." Sarcasm bled from the cultured tone.

Marlwen studied the face, a living contrast of porcelain-white and shadow. He detested the man, and needed very much to move on to the next room, but… "Something's been bugging me."

"_Do _tell."

Marlwen walked a few steps closer. He debated whether he should even delve, but his curiosity proved more powerful than he realized. "What exactly did Palpatine want to talk to you about?"

Kenobi sighed. "Only the more lovely aspects of the imprisonment he assures me I will be receiving."

"And he needed to do that in private?"

"It wouldn't serve him well to reveal a less palatable character trait with an audience. Especially now that he is Chancellor."

Marlwen could barely contain his grin. "How pleasant for you. Somehow I don't see your prosecution proceeding fairly. Not with one of your greatest…shall we say 'adversaries' in that position in the Senate."

"No, it doesn't bode well, does it?"

Marlwen shook his head with an incredulous laugh. "And naturally, you don't appear cowed whatsoever."

"I assure you, I'd be trembling in my boots, if they hadn't been taken from me."

"Well, you broke the number one rule of the galaxy," Marlwen's smile was subtle, "Don't anger the ruler of the Republic. Palpatine won't leave you unscathed by this, to say the least."

Kenobi glanced away, for no more than a heartbeat. "Yes," He agreed quietly, "It seems that way."

**O**

Padme stood at the high window overlooking the Palace courtyard, hands clasped in front of her. The bright stream of the Naboo sun radiated against her face. It was a welcome feeling. Just days before, this view would have ruined by the neon cut of laser fire and cloud of brutal oppression. The ghosts were still lingering, but freedom had been restored. The healing would come, with time. She was sure of it.

A collection of footsteps resounded in the spacious wing and she turned, face breaking into a smile.

Three Jedi approached her: Master, apprentice and brand new initiate. They favored her with a bow, and Qui-Gon stepped forward. The weariness hinted around his eyes, but he looked more rested than he had since the revelation of the Sith.

"Recovery is evident all around, Your Highness. The Naboo are strong people."

"It's their strength that will see Naboo through the aftermath." She looked down, then towards the window. But the moisture welling in her eyes was evident, despite her attempts at concealment. "And it was your strength that saw us through the invasion. Thank you, Master Jinn."

Qui-Gon gave a second, deeper bow. "It was but my duty, Your Highness."

Padme nodded, looking to Bruck, "And thank you, Padawan Chun. You…You stopped _him_. Naboo will forever be indebted to you both."

Bruck imitated his Master's example and bent before the sovereign. "You're welcome, Your Highness."

And then there was only Anakin left, standing between the taller Jedi, eyes wide with their innocent expectation.

Padme laid her hands on his shoulders. "And thanks to you, Ani. Your piloting skills saved us all. But more than that, you were my friend, when you had no idea I was queen." She ruffled his hair. "I won't forget that."

Anakin was less delicate in hiding his emotion. He swept his forearm across his watering eyes. "I won't forget you either." _Never. _

Then the ruler of Naboo took a step away from them, folding her hands again. "May the Force be with you," She declared, chestnut eyes earnest. They responded in kind and began to turn. On instinct, she called: "My mother always says that the only way to endure Fate is to face it with grace."

"We will remember," Qui-Gon assured her, before they took leave from the grand Palace for the last time.

She watched them go.

**O**


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Much thanks to **koriaena**, **My Sock**, **nessamelwasul**, **SharpShooter626**, **Ranger000**, **SithLordDarthRevan** and, of course, **Kynstar**, for their reviews!

**O**

Yoda was waiting for them when they stepped out into Naboo's lovely, unadulterated light. "Here, the ship is. Stay on it, we will, until it is time."

"Time for what?" Anakin asked, a sliver of his sadness still present in bright eyes, staying close to his towering guardian.

"Time to pick up the Jedi killer." Bruck supplied.

"Padawan," Qui-Gon said severely, then turned to Anakin and in a soothing tone, "He didn't kill any Jedi, Ani."

Silenced by the censure, Bruck could only privately provide his response: _Because he was stopped._

**O**

The sky was changing.

He saw it shift over the hours, gold to gray and now, the sultry rose tint of sunset. His eyes were on the sky, so that perhaps his mind would follow suit.

He wasn't afraid. His Master had prepared him. His Master had molded him. This was his test.

He couldn't fail. He couldn't lose his standing with his teacher.

Without it, he had nothing.

Without it, he was nothing.

**O**

"_Obi-Wan, as enthralling as the back of your head is, I think I'd rather see the screen."_

_The young apprentice laughed. "Then you must have bad taste. Quite a few people find the back of my head very entertaining. I think it's the haircut. No one gets the hair cut. Come to think of it, _I _don't get it. I mean, I understand the braid. But what's with the ponytail?"_

_Qui-Gon tried, very hard, to maintain a stern visage. "Padawan, I'm missing the program."_

"_Aha…" Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow with a sly smile, "You don't get it either."_

_The Master sighed. "Of course I 'get it'. The ponytail is in case a Master can't reach the braid to pull."_

_Obi-Wan giggled. "Fair enough. Is that why you never wear that D'iamili mane of yours in a ponytail?"_

"_Hm. You bring up an interesting point." Slowly, he grinned, "And here's my counterpoint."_

_Obi-Wan shrieked, scrambling to his feet as the man approached. But he wasn't quick enough for Qui-Gon, who grabbed him and exacted the worst form of punishment imaginable._

"_Master!" The boy gasped between bouts of breathless laughter, "You…You know I'm ticklish!"_

"_Indeed. And I find it very entertaining."_

Qui-Gon put a hand to his heart. He sat in the cockpit of the ship. The others were gathered in the common room. He was grateful that they recognized his need to be alone. He required enormous strength now, strength he still needed to find.

_He's gone. He's been gone so long. _

He swallowed thickly and glanced out the window, where black was beginning to saturate the burnished red dusk.

_He's still gone. I must remember that. _

**O**

The greatest weapon was not the lightsaber. This, Sidious had long ago determined. It was a beautiful, effective tool, yes, but vulnerable to short-outs and potentially inept wielders.

Real power never came in physical form. Empires did not tower and crumble through sheer might. The Jedi would not be eliminated by a barrage of blades—though many would come to fall at the scarlet edge of one. No, the key to every soul lay in the heart. Even he, a Sith and eternal reveler of the Darkness, was aware of it.

The heart was the nexus of being. And every heart harbored certain weaknesses.

Weakness was the weapon of most incredible magnitude. Human fallacy could steer a young, loyal student from one devotion to another, could bleach out gentleness and replace it with something more potent.

Obi-Wan Kenobi's spirit had been impressively resistant to the tragedy that crashed down on it. He was resilient—the aspect of his nature that attracted Sidious in the first place. But he was victim to the scourge of existence. His heart had a hole, gaping and wide. Like all others, he was incomplete.

It was still early. The atmosphere was layered in milky grays, and dawn's early breath had yet to make an appearance. The newly elected Supreme Chancellor stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at the object of his apprentice's ongoing struggles. The boy did his best to conceal the pain, and hells knew his effort was considerable. Sidious could see the shame burn like cinder on stone, whenever he redirected a slight wandering of the pupil's mind. The youth was mortified, outraged that even a hint of Obi-Wan Kenobi lived inside him…but Sidious knew better.

Qui-Gon Jinn was walking towards him, low on the stair.

He was the key.

There were moments that the thought of Jinn left striking stripes of jade across the Sith's consciousness. Of course, he would never admit this to his apprentice. A Master of the Darkness rose above the piddling, self-serving Order, and the Universe collectively.

A true Sith had no weaknesses to claim. Or, so it would hold in the mind of a man who had been Obi-Wan Kenobi.

"Chancellor Palpatine." Qui-Gon greeted with a tinge of surprise, "I didn't know you would be here for this."

Palpatine went as far as to clap the man on the shoulder. "Much will be expected of me under my new station, Master Jedi. I am entrusted to keep peace…or some version of it, anyway." He smiled, and spoke intently, "The Republic has a relationship with the Jedi unmatched in value. I need to uphold that. I will support the Jedi in every way possible."

Qui-Gon Jinn gave a single nod of his head. "The Jedi appreciate that."

The men walked across the sleepy reception area, to the lifts.

Palpatine watched the subtle pull of emotion in the Master's face as he released a heavy sigh. "Do you believe you're capable of this, Master Jinn?" He wondered.

"I do what I must, Chancellor."

If he had been convinced it would have gone unseen, Palpatine would have rolled his eyes at the noble response. "And you must be the one to do it?"

"He was my Padawan." Qui-Gon explained as they shot up in the cylinder, "No one else _should _do it."

"I see," Palpatine turned his head away, with the slightest twist of his lip, "Well, I'm sure no one envies you the task."

**O**

His eyes were closed and his breaths were even.

_The time is here, my apprentice._

His mind's eye opened, and an imprint of his Master's shadowed countenance dominated all else.

_The start of our victory is here…if you can do what the Dark asks of you. If you can overcome your frailty. _

He was absolutely motionless within himself. _There is no frailty, my Master. The Jedi are an obstacle. Obstacles are meant to be mowed down. _

_Yes,_ Sidious rasped, _And there can be nothing left._

_Nothing left. _He repeated. _The will of the Dark-your will-is my purpose._

_I will join you shortly on Coruscant. See to it that you have made progress by then._

_Yes, Master. _His lids ascended, and the room was bathed in black silence. _I will._

**O**

Anakin looked at Yoda, who was perched on a chair, features lax in meditation. Then he glanced at Bruck.

"What's it like to be a Jedi?"

Bruck tried to see the boy as he himself had been: a child grasping to his hopes. He tried to see Anakin as an innocent kid mixed up in a complicated situation. But he had ever seen Obi-Wan Kenobi as a wall separating him from the attention of Qui-Gon. And with Anakin Skywalker, it was no different. He knew, deep down, that it was wrong. He just couldn't help it. "It's work, kid. It's a lot of work."

"Oh," Anakin shrugged with a grin, "Well I've done lots of work."

Bruck grunted and walked out of the room.

Anakin sat with his knees to his chin, studying the small, simple room.

"Work, it is, young one." Yoda murmured, "Much discipline, you will need."

Anakin's focus was drawn to the small creature. "Discipline?"

"Mmm. Understand that life is balance, you will, with training."

"Okay." Anakin was quiet, staring down at his feet. "Bruck doesn't like me." He blurted.

"Still searching for balance, he is." Yoda smiled warmly, "But like you, _I_ do."

"Thanks," The boy felt his chest lift a bit, "I like you too. And Master Qui-Gon." He frowned, "Is Master Qui-Gon going to train me? What about Bruck? And the one coming back to Coruscant with us?"

"Patience," The old Master soothed, "Calm your heart, it will."

"I never feel calm." Anakin admitted with a shallow drop of his eyes.

"Sense that, I can." He nodded, "But calm, you will be, with the Force."

Anakin thoughtfully chewed on a corner of his lip. "Do only Jedi have the Force?"

"No, young Skywalker." Yoda's eyes took on a certain gloss. "Touch far more than the Jedi, the Force does."

**O**

_There would always be darkness, Qui-Gon Jinn realized, as midnight turned air to shadow. He rested his chin lightly on his apprentice's head, willing sentinel for these lonely, long hours._

The only lights had been swarmed and smothered, save a single, trembling glow in the distance. He walked down the line. His steps were heavy, resounding in his ears and forcing unison with his heart.

_The beating was slow. He felt it, albeit faintly, against him. The horror of the visions-the content of which were still veiled from him-had lessened, and the child slept, swathed in the worn fabric of robe and security. Qui-Gon glanced down at the face._

The eyes stared at him, twin blades of crystal. He saw them, though he was not yet at the threshold.

_There was still so much ahead. He had come into his role with hesitance…even fear._

He couldn't allow the slightest shiver. It seemed that intimidation would be a player in this. There could be no equality, no balance. One would have to stand taller.

_But his apprentice was destined for greatness. He had been a fool to delude himself into thinking otherwise. In his arms was the hope for the Jedi, perhaps for the Universe…and the answer to his isolation. _

He wasn't alone; he was only too aware of the Chancellor's sleek strides, somewhere beside him. He had meant to retrieve the Jedi's prisoner without accompaniment, without even Master Yoda to support him. The cause of this terrible, surreal situation belonged to _him_. _He _had been guardian over that child, those years ago.

_He trailed his finger down the soft cheek. It became the purpose of every teacher, to ensure their pupil prospered. That the student surpassed those that taught him. The warmth that flooded his soul whenever he thought of the Padawan startled Qui-Gon, again and again. This one was—different. So full of trust, so worthy of his trust. _

And that child had betrayed him. That child had abandoned everything-his home, his friends, his Master-in favor of _strangers_. Now, the things of Light, shed so recklessly, were the things foreign to him. That which had made him Obi-Wan Kenobi was gone. Obi-Wan Kenobi was dead.

_Obi-Wan Kenobi was precious. He drew the slumbering child closer, to ward off the night's chill._

The Darkness owned him.

_He would guard against that cold, always. _

Qui-Gon's fingers were frozen. He curled and uncurled them as they approached.

_He would fight the shadows._

The door loomed. He felt the Force ripple—then change.

_For yes, there would always be darkness…_

The roiling black threatened him, as he waited to enter.

_Reaching with deceptively calming fingers…_

Then the barricade between the hall and the room vanished.

_But he would match that darkness…he would overwhelm it…_

And the pale, bruised face assaulted his eyes.

_There would always be darkness, but not for his apprentice. A gentle sigh was carried through the silence, and Qui-Gon watched the parted lips close again. He smiled. _

Qui-Gon's mouth was pressed into a hard, straight line.

Doctor Marlwen acknowledged the arrival with a knowing nod. "Master Jinn, Chancellor Palpatine." He knew no one was in the frame of mind to exchange niceties, "His recovery has progressed on schedule. His wound has healed, and his strength is almost completely restored. He doesn't have any clothes, aside from the gown the hospital provided," A sardonic smirk, "But that shouldn't prevent him from going into Jedi custody."

Qui-Gon glanced down and swallowed, barely hearing any of it.

"Master Jinn, you _do _plan on restraining him in some manner?" Palpatine asked. "You, and certainly the Jedi, cannot risk him escaping."

His fingers moved in a trance to the cuffs, kept in his tunic. They had the basic design of handcuffs, but were resistant to the Force. He rubbed his touch along the icy steel.

If he had expected the captive to be solemn, he had been mistaken in his assumption.

"The Jedi risk everything either way." Obi-Wan informed them, as though he were merely relaying predictions of the coming weather.

Palpatine smiled, chuckling lightly. "It appears that _you _are the one who has risked too much, with your clumsy, untrained attempts, young Kenobi. If you believe the Jedi a simple obstacle, then you are ambitious to the point of idiocy."

The monitors had been unplugged, so if the comments had stirred anything within Obi-Wan, it went unnoticed.

Qui-Gon went forward, opening the shackles with a sharp click.

Obi-Wan glanced at Marlwen. "It's been lovely, Doctor. Promise you'll write?"

The heavy circles locked around thin wrists. There was no struggle.

Marlwen helped his patient stand. Then, when the Master had placed a reluctant hand on Kenobi's shoulder, he backed away. Palaptine joined him.

Qui-Gon turned to the dark-haired physician. "Thank you," He bowed, "Your help has been greatly appreciated."

"As yours has been." Marlwen replied, with a gleam of respect.

"Yes, Master Jinn," Palaptine added, in his slightly uneven voice, "You have been vital in the reinstatement of freedom on Naboo. We're in your debt."

But Qui-Gon shook his head. "There are no debts here, Chancellor. I think we've all paid."

**O**


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Thanks to all my wonderful readers: **Laura of Maychoria**, **Ebben1**, **CynWraith**, **silverkitcat**, **Audreidi**, **Cassandra**, **Sith Lord Darth Revan**, **Katey of Maychoria**, **SharpShooter626 **and **Kynstar. **

**O**

Anakin watched the jade eyes darken, and a frown appeared on his small face. "What's wrong?"

A crease deepened beneath cracked lips. Yoda's pointed ears flattened to the sides of his head. "Returned, Master Qui-Gon has."

Anakin straightened at the news. "He has?"

The boy's relief was patently obvious to the Master. Though they had made steps toward friendship, no one would rival Qui-Gon Jinn in the heart and mind of Anakin Skywalker. The man had liberated him from a fruitless life of backbreaking labor. More than that, he had promised Anakin a place among the Jedi, and championed the child at every turn.

Bruck joined them, a sullen expression fastened to his colorless face. He stood apart from the others.

Yoda's features took on an unsettled look. "Yes, returned, he has—with Obi-Wan." Of course he had known it was coming, that _he _was coming. But there was still no preparation to be performed. Every mention or glimpse of Obi-Wan Kenobi was like a harsh clubbing to the old councilors' memory. He had to strive to protect the gentler past from the cruelty of this present. Others would pass acrid judgment on Obi-Wan. They would hate, they would accuse.

Hate was without virtuous use. It was self-destruction.

Obi-Wan had lived that, it would seem…but had yet to learn the lesson.

"I don't want him to be here." Anakin said with absolute conviction. He sat near the Master, legs folded and gaze intense. "He tried to kill Master Qui-Gon. And Padme."

A soft, clawed hand rested on the boy's head. "Hurt anyone, he will not. Push away feelings of fear, you must, young one."

"I'm not afraid."

Yoda smiled faintly. "Seek the truth, you should."

But Anakin couldn't be swayed. He _wasn't _afraid. He was going to be a Jedi. Jedi weren't scared of anything.

_I bet Master Qui-Gon is never afraid. _

**O**

_The tears stopped. The last of the hot, unbidden moisture was purged from his eyes, and then he sat back, dumbstruck by the sudden halt of the uproarious emotion. Since succumbing to the misery welled in his chest, he had existed solely within it, thinking only of his pain, knowing that it was ceaseless and could not be conquered. He was a Jedi Master, but beneath the layers of earth-toned tunic and solemn façade, he was a man, a human being. And humans could not exist without their hearts. _

_So how was it that he was sitting here, seeing through the smear of what should have been fatal heartbreak? _

_Obi-Wan was gone. The reason for his existence, the only person who could cause the battered core of himself to contract in love _or _alarm…_

_But no. Qui-Gon turned from the bleak void beyond the window, towards the back of the laboring little vessel that was hurtling away from the hellish rock of Melida/Daan. No, he realized, blinking rapidly._

_There was another._

_He wiped at his eyes and stood. His knees shook, but he took the first steps, and he found that most of his strength had been replenished. He walked through the tiny, weakly lit rooms and down the narrow corridor. When he came to her quarters, his breath fled, and he merely stood in the doorframe, incapable of much else._

_Tahl lay on the bed. Beneath the gray linen, there was a suggestion of the slenderness of the body, and the harsh injuries gleaned during her mission were concealed from view. Her chest rose and fell with the uneven pattern of her breathing. In the Force, it was the same, for though her light glowed bright and purely, it too had suffered from her ordeal. _

_Her head was turned away from him. Qui-Gon moved desperately to the other side of the bed, where he sat and took a too-frail hand in his own, searching for the pulse that would be his salvation. For a moment, he had the manic thought that perhaps his watered eyes had imagined the earlier movement, and that her slim wrist would offer no signs of life. So when her heart echoed against his probing fingers, the second tear sting assaulted him. _

_He swallowed hard, to hide the sob from her ears._

_But she heard. Her face, honeyed skin unnaturally pale and darkly bruised, was strained with the effort of waking. Her cracked lips opened, as her eyes could not._

_Her eyes. Eyes that were always in his thoughts, superimposed over everything. Those eyes of jade and streaking gold were his conscience. And now they smothered beneath protective gauze. _

"_Qui…Qui-Gon." She whispered._

_He smiled, leaning forward, and brushing a kiss across her brow. "Yes. I'm here." The smile grew tremulous, " And you're safe."_

_She rested against the warmth of his face, in the shadows he cast. "And we are…going home." She said with a relieved sigh. _

"_Yes." He closed his eyes, wanting to disappear in her spirit, in the gentleness that would be a harbor against all impending storms. They were going home, together. What else could possibly matter?_

"_O-Obi-Wan? Is he…alright?"  
_

_And the haven she had created for him was a little cold then. Qui-Gon withdrew from her, sitting upright and running fingers along his beard. _

"_Qui-Gon?" She rested her hand on his knee, "Is Obi-Wan alright?"_

_He detected the creeping concern in her lovely voice, and he hated it. He hated that she loved his apprentice, loved him almost as much as he did. _

Former apprentice, _He corrected himself stridently, with a sizzle of acid, _Former.

"_He isn't here." He finally told her._

_A frown straightened her mouth. "Isn't here? What…what do you mean?" Unabashed panic now, " Where is Obi-Wan?"_

"_On Melida/Daan."_

_She knew there was something terribly wrong with his response. He knew that she knew, just by the lines of her body, the spiking lines in the Force. "Why isn't he…with you?"_

_Qui-Gon's eyes flickered away from her. It was a question that would haunt him, though he already knew the answer. "He chose them. He chose them over me."_

"_What do you mean? Who?"_

_How could he say this? He could barely even _think _it. "He chose the Young. He chose to stay with them and fight."_

"_What? How could he do that?"_

_Qui-Gon shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. "I don't know."_

"_No, Qui-Gon, _HOW _could he do that? He's…he's only a first-year apprentice. He's not nearly old or experienced enough to…" Then she shook her head, despite of the pain it surely caused her, "You…you left him there, didn't you?"_

"_No." He said, with powerful, unshakeable conviction. He held to that conviction, and wouldn't let _anything _trespass. "I didn't leave him there. He left _me_, to stay there."_

"_But…" Her breaths were ragged, "He's only thirteen. He's just a child, Qui-Gon. To the Jedi, and …and virtually every other civilization in the Universe. How could he choose to stay there if you didn't want him to?"_

_Qui-Gon catapulted to his feet. "Because he wanted to take this ship to help fight that ridiculous war! He wanted to jeopardize your health, Tahl, to volunteer for that death crusade, and I wouldn't let him." He shook his head feverishly. "I wouldn't let him ruin my life, or yours."_

"_So you've simply…allowed him to ruin his own?"_

_The words slammed into him, and he had to take a moment to gather a meager breath, "You don't understand," He said with deliberate slowness, "He disobeyed me. I tried to get him to come with me, but he wouldn't. He just stood there, and defied me. He may be a child, but he was also a Jedi."_

"_Was?" Tahl's frail fingers clasped to the bed sheets. "Oh Qui-Gon, what have you done?"_

"_I didn't do anything!" He nearly shouted, "He knew what he was doing. I told him the consequences. And in the end, he was headstrong, and stupid. He did what he wanted to do."_

"_Qui-Gon…" She murmured wearily, as though attempting, in undertones, to calm him, "Of course he was headstrong and stupid. A year ago, he was still in the initiates' wing. He's too young to make a decision like this, Qui-Gon."_

"_But he's already made it. I did what I could. I-I took him in my arms, and told him it would be all right, that we'd defer to the Council about what was to be done about the Young. But he didn't listen. I tried to scare him into coming, but he wouldn't move. There was nothing more I could do."_

"_But there's more you can do now. You can go back for him. Turn around and go back, Qui-Gon. Please. You know it's right."_

"_No, I—"_

"_You _know_ he belongs with the Jedi, Qui-Gon," The injured woman countered, "You know he belongs with you. It took you so long to understand that. You caused yourself so much pain…and now…now, do you want to go through it again?"_

"_Of course not," Qui-Gon whispered, turning completely away from her, seeing in the black blanket of space the gnawing oblivion he had suffered through those empty years, "But he chose this for himself _AND _for me. I told him I loved him and he didn't care."_

"_That doesn't sound like Obi-Wan."_

_He wheeled around, selfishly grateful that she couldn't see the tears snaking from his eyes, "Maybe Obi-Wan isn't who we thought he was. I never thought…" The next words were lost in a gusting sob, swirling in his chest, and he shook his head, "If I go back, it will be like absolving him of what he's done. I warned him I wouldn't come back. This is what he wanted."_

"_Qui-Gon---"_

"_No. He wanted to stay with them. So I'm letting him stay." He started for the door, then paused, glancing backward, "I was right about him, you know. Everyone had to push me to accept him, and look what he's turned out to be. I was right all along."_

"_Yes," Tahl said very quietly, her skin suddenly leeched of more color, "You seem to believe that. So tell me, Master Jinn: is that knowledge worth what it cost?"_

**O**

On a path of ancient, gray stone, two shadows were spilled across it. In the secluded area leading towards a distant vessel, the shadows, and those who cast them, were the lone travelers.

The man who had once been Obi-Wan Kenobi was currently staring out at the fading Naboo day, aware that the man who had once been his Jedi Master was staring at _him _with that same, singular focus.

He sighed. Subtlety was obviously not Qui-Gon Jinn's forte. "I won't be performing any tricks this evening. My charming accessory prevents that, if you didn't know."

"I am unfamiliar with the Dark Side of the Force, being a Jedi." The older man coolly retorted. "I'll take no chances with you. Let that be a warning."

"My very heart trembles," Obi-Wan drawled.

Qui-Gon's steps slowed. "It should. You'll get nothing less than you deserve, Obi-Wan."

Cerulean eyes captured a molten flit from the sinking sun, and the gaze was abrupt conflagration. "Obi-Wan deserved far more. And he already suffered the punishment."

"And what was the punishment?"

A smile stretched across the pallid face. "Death."

"I see," Qui-Gon studied him a moment, then picked up his previous gait, "So if Obi-Wan is dead, who are _you_?"

"The Jedi give all to the Force, or so they claim. But you each have an individual identity, a sense of self. And that's where you lose the ultimate connection. You are not of the Force, nor is Windu, or even the fossilizing troll. I have no name. I _am _the Force."

In answer to this appalling claim, Qui-Gon could only laugh. "Then the Order's been getting it spectacularly wrong all these centuries. The Force isn't a binding energy that unites the Universe. It's a twenty-five year old attempted killer," He snorted, "Forgive me if I don't believe you."

"I'm not asking for your belief. I'm _telling_ you. If you're planning revenge against me, it is ill-advised." Obi-Wan turned to him, and the frost of a thousand winters rhymed his pupils. "You would be no match for me."

"And you appear to be no match for my apprentice," Qui-Gon smirked. "If you are so unmatched in power, why do you not escape me this very instant?"

Obi-Wan's lips were touched with a small smile, "I've been away a long time. I'm looking forward to seeing my old friends again. Although, of all the meetings in store for me, none have been so anticipated as mine with you, Master Jinn."

"And why is that?"

"Because you were my closest friend…and for the closest friend, one always saves the best things."

**O**


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